


the Night Won't Let Me Sleep

by lildouglas



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bullying, Domestic Avengers, Family, Feel-good, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Peter Parker, Peter Parker Whump, Team as Family, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-10-29 04:19:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10846329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lildouglas/pseuds/lildouglas
Summary: Spider-Man may be a hero, but he is still Peter Parker. He'll act how a recently orphaned 15-year-old is to be expected to: recklessly.In which Spider-Man is a reckless idiot, and the Avengers are worried.





	1. A Rescue

Cold hands grip tight at the small brown hairs at the back of Peter’s neck as his head is roughly yanked out of the water. A sharp inhale of breath sounds quickly, turning into an exhalation but was cut off by another dunk. Peter winced for the ice water. 

 

All he could feel was that cold, cold, cold surrounding him. His face was becoming numb, and he was unfocused. If he concentrated enough, he could feel sharp pains and aches throughout his body. The pressure on the back of his neck would not escape him. 

 

Sharp metal claws its way into his neck, and he’s slowly being hoisted out of the water. His lips part, greedily taking in air. 

 

As a child, Peter hated taking showers. If someone came in and murdered him while he was in there, his family him naked! Oh, and, he’d be dead. That, too. He never felt safe in there. 

 

Especially when he got shampoo in his eyes. Burning soap would leave him blinded for a short while, leaving him vulnerable to any murders in the nearby vicinity. 

 

Being waterboarded by Doctor Octopus left him with a similiar feelings. 

 

There’s a blindfold around his eyes, something drilled into his ears, a rough rope keeping his hands tied behind his back. He’s disoriented of all his senses, except for one: feeling. 

 

And what does he feel right now? Not good would be an understatement. 

 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been trapped down in Doctor Oct’s lab. Time has long ago been lost. After being locked into a room full of cockroaches and scorpions with his eyes blinded, after the many nights he’s gone through, drugged without any sleep, the garrote with its grip on him, after all that, he can’t remember how long it’s been. 

 

There is metal touching him now, bringing him out of his thoughts. He’s being dragged into a chair. His feet are bound to the legs, his hands still tied behind his back. The cold metal touches his face, tracing his features. 

 

Peter is trembling at his touch. He can’t see, but he knows the mad scientist is before him. He leans away as far as he can, but he has nowhere to go. 

 

The hands disappear. He sucks in a breath, waiting for whatever he has next up his sleeve. If he’s learned anything, it’s that he never stops. There’s never a break, not once. 

 

Peter screams. 

 

He can’t hear his voice, but he knows it’s going to come out muffled through the spiked gag in his mouth. 

Sharp tools are digging in under his fingernails. He wails, wiggling in his bonds. Tears, without a doubt, are streamed down his face. 

 

All of a sudden, they pull away, and Peter clenches his fists, hiding his nails in his palms. 

 

He waits, moments passing, waiting for the knives to return, for a syringe in his skin, for a slap, for a hit, for something that Peter won’t be able to stop thinking about at night. 

 

Then, there’s the cold again. It’s there again, touching him, absorbing him. The hands are ripping off his blindfold, and Peter grips his eyes shut even though Oct wouldn’t be able to see through his lenses. 

 

The cold hands are digging at his ears, and he’s sensitive to all the metal pressing against him. Something is pulled out of his ear, something sharp that dug its way deep and burrowed down. He let out a muffled cry. 

 

Footsteps, quiet, small, were in his ear. The sound of harsh metal hitting the floor made him quiver so much more. The sound was unwelcome, and Peter’s body rejected it. 

 

The cold was at his mouth now, pushing his lips apart. There was a spiked ball, digging into his gums, being slowly pulled out. Peter choked. 

 

The ball was slowly pulled out, leaving a mess of blood. The taste of copper made him gag. 

 

“--Ider-Man,” a voice said, and Peter repelled. 

 

He frantically shook his head. “N-N….N..No,” he rasped out, “P-P...Ple--” His voice cut off as a tremor of pain surged throughout his body. “Ple-ease!” 

 

Hands were tugging at the bottom of his mask, but Peter clung to it. His spider abilities were the only thing keeping his identity safe. 

 

It didn’t matter, though. Octavious had already found it out. Still, he couldn’t let himself lose his mask. He already lost enough. 

 

“Spidey,” a voice said, and Peter’s heart broke. 

 

He’s heard the voice as a young boy seated in front of a television, as a new superhero eagerly following each and every word he says as if it were sacred, as a child listening with respect to every move he makes. 

 

Tony Stark. 

 

“Spidey,” he said again. “Kid, what did he--”

 

The bounds are being cut up, Peter slowly being released from his prison. The rope falls, and Peter lets himself drop out of the chair to the floor. His shaky hands pull his mask up to his nose. A pool of blood, trapped under his mask, drips down in a waterfall. 

 

He’s surrounded by metal, and it still feels like Oct. “C-C..Cold,” he sputtered, pushing himself away from the cold wall. He can’t open his eyes. 

 

“It’s me, kid,” he says, somewhat awkwardly. “‘Mr. Stark,’” he mocks his fanboy voice, the one he always used during their team ups. “What happened to you?” 

 

He forced himself to see for himself the familiar red and yellow. His brown eyes fluttered open to see through his mask. 

 

He was on his knees before Tony Stark, whose face was covered. Captain America was to his right. Black Widow on his left. Hawkeye was jumping off of a high perch and taking his place next to his team. The Falcon was landing, as well. 

 

“S-Stop… Norman,” he seethes. “He’s with Oct, a-and h-he…” He breaks off into a coughing fit.

 

“Calm down, kiddo,” he reassured, but his voice wavered. “You need--”

 

“N-No! Y-You have t-to,” he begged, “Please, h-he has… He knows who m-me… He knows my… family. You have to go!”

 

“No one is going anywhere,” Tony said. “Oct is down, and we need to get you to the quinjet.”

 

“I-I’m not what’s important right now!” His heart throbbed. “Please, please, Mr. Stark, we have to--”

 

Peter staggered to his feet, going off on his own. His knees buckled. Before he could fall, however, he was hoisted off his feet to be carried bridal style by Iron Man. The feeling of someone that wasn’t Oct wasn’t unwelcome to him, so he leaned into the touch, despite his embarrassment.

 

His drowsiness started to wear down on him. If it wasn’t, he would’ve had enough shame to pick himself up. He lay, motionless, in his arms. Iron Man took off, the Avengers behind him. 

 

“Mr. Stark, I have a very important place to be,” he informs him, tapping him. 

 

“Like hell you do,” he returned, shifting his grip on him. Peter’s head was cradled.

 

His mouth opened to protest, but he was cut off. “Tony? Who is--” A curly haired scientist stepped out of the quinjet. “Spider-Man?” 

 

Tony dropped Peter down on a table. Betrayed, Peter sat back up, but the scientist wasn’t having it. Suddenly, despite his incoordination, he remembered. “Norman! Y-You have to go after him--”

 

“Norman?” the scientist asked. “Oscorp?” Peter nodded frantically. “He’s dead.” 

 

“N-No,” he insisted. “H-He,” he insisted. “Octavious--”

 

“On it,” a woman, Black Widow, said suddenly, spinning on her heels. Hawkeye followed behind her. Captain America took a seat next to Peter’s table. 

 

“Spider-Man,” Captain America started, “were you drugged?” 

 

“Mhmm, think so,” he hummed, feeling sleepy. “I-I…” He trailed off. 

 

_ May.  _

 

“I’m sorry, but I-I really need to go,” he said, pulling himself off of the table. 

 

Captain America was out of his seat instantly, pushing Spider-Man back down. “Hold on,” he ordered. “We need to treat your wounds.” 

 

“Nuh!” he yelped, definitely concussed. He rolled off of the table, his back screaming at him. He staggered to his feet, rolling towards the door. 

 

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Tony Stark said, grabbing his feet and pulling him back. “Spidey, cut it out!” 

 

He turned, kicking the hands off of him. He scrambled to his feet and ran out the door. 

 

Peter should have realized that this wasn’t a good idea. He’s not in his best mind right now, however, after being put through so many drugs and so many hours, days, weeks, possibly, of torture. Booking it for Aunt May seemed welcoming right now. 

 

Norman couldn’t be dead. He knew for a fact that the Octavious and Oscorp were a team. After all, Norman had paid him a visit just a couple hours ago. 

 

“Spider-Man!” a man said suddenly. Someone flew above him, and Peter quickened his pace. 

 

His web shooters were not with him, so he was left to his basics. He scaled up a building, not stopping to look at the amused faces in the windows. 

 

He jumped across the rooftops. He’s been through the skies of New York so many times that it takes him no time at all to track down Oscorp tower. He swings in through a window, splatting flat across it. 

 

He looked down at the black knob. He cursed at himself before sliding the hatch open and slipping inside. 

 

“Real mature, kid,” Tony Stark said, landing in front of him. 

 

“How did you--?” he asked in disbelief. His faceplate revealed Tony’s “I’m Tony Stark; what can I not do” face. 

 

“Norman isn’t here,” he said, cutting him off. “Whatever you think he did, he didn’t.” 

 

“Stark would know,” a voice chimed in. “He only stalks him all the time.” Hawkeye jumps down from a landing. He leans in close. “Rivals.” He rolled his eyes. Peter steps back. 

 

“We want to help,” Captain America said, inching closer. Peter turned to his side. Where are they all coming from?

 

Peter turned his back to them and sprinted away. He jumped down the staircase, taking off to Oscorp’s lab. No employees were here, of course. Norman would have it empty on a day he attempted to steal Aunt May. 

 

Octavious revealed his secret identity to Oscorp. Aunt May would never be safe again, and he knew for a fact Norman was on his way to capture her. 

 

_ Oh.  _

 

He looks behind him to see Avengers on his trail. If they follow him all the way to his house, his identity is at stake. 

 

_ May. _

 

Picking his Aunt’s life over his identity (even though his secret identity is what has kept her alive all this time), Peter took off towards his house. He really missed his webshooters right now, as he could hear the footsteps of Captain America growing closer and closer. 

 

Boosters sounded and before he knew it, the ground was stolen from Peter’s feet. “Mr. Stark!” he growled, fighting in his grip. He went to kick at his face, but he caught his foot. Peter yelped, his head falling, his body turning upside down. He was being held up by his feet. “Mr. Stark!” Louder, this time. 

 

“You’re chasing a ghost,” he said. “He’s dead, and you’re delusional. Let’s go get you patched up--”

 

“No, sir!” He swung up, batting at Tony’s hands. Tony’s grip lessened, and Peter escaped. 

 

The ground was looking larger and larger by the second. Before he could meet it, though, another person picked him up. He groaned this time. “Falcon, go away,” he whined. 

 

He fought his way out, treating him very well like an enemy. He was doing surprisingly good so far in his damaged state. 

 

Peter was a genius. He’s surprised it took him this long to realize the Avengers were going easy on him. They didn’t want to hurt him. 

 

Peter didn’t want to hurt them, either. But, they were keeping him from Aunt May. 

 

“Norman is dead!” Falcon said, chasing him down. “Listen! I don’t know what you want with him, but he’s gone.” 

 

Peter stilled, taking in his words. He stopped for a moment. Falcon inched closer. “We want to help,” he said. 

 

His Spidey Sense went off suddenly. “How did he die? When?” 

 

“Norman Osborn died in an attempt to blow up the city. He died dragging down a civilian.” 

 

His heart wrenched. His Spidey Sense grew louder. 

 

The aching pain in his body worsened and he sunk. 

 

He thought Norman left today. In reality, his identity was revealed two nights ago. Norman has her already. He was too late. 

 

His Spidey Sense shook again, and Spider-Man jumped. He turned to his left to see an arrow coming his way. It found its way into his leg too late. 

  
“I’m sorry, kid.” 


	2. A Graveyard Makes for a Warm Bed

“ _ Peter,” the voice hushed. “Peter. Sweetheart, you have to wake up.”  _

 

Peter rolled over in his bed. “May, shoo,” he grumbled. “I’m tired.” No response came. “Can’t I just skip today?”

 

“Sure you want to do that?” The sweet, gentle voice of his Aunt came out like a harsh, shriveled up old man voice. Peter rubbed his eyes through his mask and sat up. “Cause Captain made breakfast.” 

 

Peter stared back in shock. Tony continued, “Meet us in the common room for breakfast.” He slipped out the door, and Peter exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. “Oh, and,” he said, peeking his head back in, “I don’t know who May is, but--” Peter reached for a nearby book and chucked it at him. 

 

Peter waited a couple moments before slipping out of his bed and making his way towards the clothes laid out for him. He picked up a black tank top and bright red Iron Man themed fluffy pants. He kept his mask on when he slid into the common room. 

 

Captain America, in workout gear, was setting food down on the table. Tony Stark was already seated with his coffee. Black Widow and Hawkeye were sitting on the couch a little ways away. Bruce Banner was fixing himself a drink and tapping his feet along to the quiet music playing. 

 

The domestic habits of the Avengers would have left him speechless if he wasn’t a superhero himself. He had his own personal life, so why wouldn’t they? Still, he had to take a moment to smile at the sight of the Falcon waltzing around in his shorts. 

 

Bruce Banner spun around, carefully as to not spill his tea, spitting it all out on sight of Peter. “Why are you up walking already?” he exclaimed, setting his tea down and leaping over. “Sit down; sit down!” 

 

“Uh,” he stuttered as Bruce took his arm and guided him to his seat. A plate full of pancakes, bacon, and eggs was plopped down in front of him. The other Avengers took their seats. He sat between Tony and Bruce. “Is it okay if I..?” He gestured towards the plate. 

 

Tony, with a mouthful of food, waved. “Mhm, eat,” he insisted. “You mhf a thwig,” he said between spoonfuls. Bruce rolled his eyes in distaste. 

 

“You’ve been out for a couple days,” Steve stated. “You must be hungry.” 

 

He was, but his mind was elsewhere. “A couple days?” he asked. “Wait, what is today?” The last time Peter had scribbled down the date on his homework was October 29th if he recalled correctly. 

 

“November tenth,” Black Widow replied, and Peter spit out his coffee. 

 

“Oh, God, oh, God,” he cursed. “I’m going to have  _ so  _ much work to make up.” 

 

Bruce chuckled. “I hate to say it, but I need you to stay here for a few more days.” Spider-Man sharply looked up at him. “Sorry, guess I’m not helping with the make-up work.” 

 

“Why?” he asked, and then he realized he has no clue what he’s doing. “Wait, what, why am I here?”

 

This time it was Black Widow who cracked a smile. “You use some hard drugs,” Hawkeye snickered. 

 

Now that Peter thought about it, he did feel out of the loop. “You drugged me? Did you kidnap me, too?”

 

“No, that wasn’t us,” Steve said quickly at the same time Tony said, “Sort of.” 

 

Steve glared at him. Tony threw his arms up in defeat. “What? We kinda did,” he replied, rubbing his arm from Steve’s punch. “You were hurt, kid. Are hurt, and badly.” 

 

Peter looked down at his legs, his arms, and the bandages sticking out of the tank top. His memory came flooding back to him, and so did the pain. The words the Falcon told him yesterday played in his mind. “Osborn?” he managed, holding his stomach in pain. Bruce dropped his fork and tended to his side. He pulled out some new bandages. 

 

“Deceased,” a robotic voice replied, and Peter jumped at the voice. He turned his head rapidly. “Shall I pull up the report?” 

 

“If you would, JARVIS,” Bruce requested. 

 

Files were pulled up before Peter almost instantly. He reached out towards the technology to scroll through  _ the Daily Bugle’s _ article. “THREE DEAD IN GOBLIN ATTACK” read the headline. It was dated for five days ago. He scanned down towards the photograph of Osborn, in his goblin form, holding his son, Harry, by his collar. The photo was taken by Mary Jane Watson, juvenile reporter. 

 

He checked the victim list for anyone he had known, anyone who possibly could've been May. He doesn't find her name on the list, much to his delight. 

 

Goblin’s definitely dead. Peter’s a little late to the party. 

 

His schoolwork must be piling up by the second. Not to mention, J.J.J. has probably fired him already. If not, soon, if he can't escape this place. 

 

Right,  _ this place.  _ Parker’s seriously got himself into one bad place after another. 

 

He's sitting at a dining table with conversing Avengers laughing over their morning coffee. 

 

“Thank you all so very much,” he thanked, ducking his head. “For the treatment and the food.” 

 

“God knows you need it,” Sam mumbled, placing his water down on the table. 

 

“Wait!” Bruce protested. “You can't leave yet! You need to be taking it easy.” 

 

“Spider-Man doesn't get sick days,” he said, smiling wryly under his mask. He stood up, picking up his bundle of his Spider-Man suit. 

 

His plate had been cleared. Doctor Oct hadn't fed him too much from the time he stayed. The Avengers’ food had tasted amazing, and Peter really didn't want to go just yet. He couldn't overstay his welcome, though. 

 

He stepped away from the table, only for Tony Stark to climb over him and scream, “JARVIS, don't let him leave!” 

 

Peter’s Spidey Sense went off, and he jumped up to dodge a tranquilizer coming his way. He took off on his feet, not looking behind him. He heard a faint, “I just said he needs to take it easy!” He grinned a bit to himself, ignoring the sharp pain in his side. 

 

He slid into the elevator, only to find it jammed. He gritted his teeth, opening the top of the elevator box, and climbing out of it. He scaled through the dark way, reaching the top. The Avengers Tower had at least 70 stories, and Peter arrived at the top floor easily. 

 

He reached a computer room. Jarvis, the AI, wouldn't let him escape. If he could find an interface, however, he could temporarily reprogram it. 

 

He hacked the AI, so easily that he has no doubt Tony is going to beat himself up about it. 

 

Oh, if only he knew a fifteen year old child was the one who hacked his tower. Grinning, he opened the window, slipping out into the cold, Autumn wind. 

 

He crawled down the side of the building, making direct eye contact with Hawkeye as he passed, before shooting a web to a nearby building. 

 

What does Peter think about while web slinging? More like, what does Peter  _ not  _ think about while web slinging? 

 

It felt good to be out there again. A little piece of his soul had been returned to him, and he took it. After the countless hours of being chained down by those bonds, swinging through the streets of New York was heaven.

 

Then he remembered May. What was he going to tell May? He's been missing for weeks. He probably gave her a heart attack. 

 

He was rehearsing what he was going to say as he ducked behind a building to take off his mask and slip into civilian clothes. He was scared for her reaction, but Peter was overwhelmed with joy to see her again.  

 

Peter was strolling up to his front door when a voice called to him. “Peter!” A pregnant woman was racing towards him. She carried a tub of brownies in her hand. “Peter,” she panted, out of breath. 

 

“Mrs. Hannah, please take it easy,” he requested. She took a large puff of air. 

 

“Nonsense, child, I haven’t seen you in ages,” she said, stuffing the tub into his hands. “I’m really sorry about your Aunt, child. She was a good woman.”

 

“What?” 

 

“It’s such a shame,” she said, shaking her head. “She loved you. She and Ben, they did.” 

 

“I was out of town,” he lied, gritting his teeth. “Where is my aunt?”

 

Her face fell. “Peter,” she started. “May had a heart attack. She--” The words that followed were drowned out. 

 

_ May had a heart attack. May had a heart attack. May had a heart attack.  _

 

Peter’s breath hitched. The woman inched forwards to embrace him, but he stepped away. “Where is she?”

 

She stumbled. “I… I don’t know. A family friend took her to the hospital, but no one has seen him since. It’s actually been quite a mystery,” she mused. “What was that name…? Harry?”

 

“Osborn.” 

 

“That’s right. Osborn… Hey, wait, Peter!”

 

Peter ran and ran and ran until his feet could carry him no longer. He sunk to the ground, hugging his legs close to his chest. 

 

_ May. May. May. _

 

He was moving again, crawling in the cementary. A couple goth kids hung around in the late of the day, probably trying to summon satan, or sacrifice a virgin - whatever, Peter didn’t care. He collapsed on the grave. 

 

_ May. _

 

Ben’s grave stood before him, but not May’s. She had to be alive. She had to be. 

 

If she wasn’t, Peter wouldn’t know what to do. 

 

If she died, Peter really would be all alone. 

 

He slipped on his Spider-Man mask. “Ben,” he promised, “I’ll find her.” His eyes drifted heavy. “I will.”

  
  


A couple hours later when the sun started to set and the moon laid its blanket of dark on the city, a man approached him from behind. Sprawled across the cold, harsh ground of a graveyard lay an unconscious Spider-Man curled up into a tight ball. 

 

Iron Man scooped him up off the ground, cradling the smaller hero. 

  
“ _ Teenagers.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed! If you liked, check out my other works in this series! 
> 
> Multi-chapters are reallllllly difficult to write. Plus, exams r frying my brain. I'm having lots of fun working on these, though!


	3. An (un)fortunate misunderstanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "THREE DEAD IN GOBLIN ATTACK"  
> -Daily Bugle, written and photographed by Mary Jane Watson
> 
> The cause of Norman Osborn's return to his role as the Green Goblin is still unknown, and his actions are left to speak for himself. The Goblin attacked Harry Osborn in an attempt to murder him by picking him up from his collar and dangling him over the cliff. 
> 
> "Norman has never been close to his son," Flash Thompson says. "He's in my class, and I never see his father happy with him." 
> 
> Three have passed during the attack, all undirectly related to his presence. His only known reason was his intention to use his son as bait for the Ultimate Spider-Man.

Bringing in Spider-Man the first time was somewhat easy. In his drugged out, wounded state he was a rag doll in his arms. Dropping him in the medbay was a piece of cake. 

 

This time, Tony didn't have the luxury of that. Spider-Man, in his sleep, had stuck to Tony. 

 

He’s seen Spider-Man scale buildings before. He's even stuck to the Hulk before! Of course, when he hacked JARVIS, anyone can believe that he spent hours replayed the security footage of him scaling the elevator. 

 

Now, he used the same wall crawling ability to attach himself to Tony. 

 

He was met with laughter when he stepped into the common room. “This. Is. The. Best.” Hawkeye doubled over in a fit. Black Widow stepped out, returning moments later with a camera. She snapped a photo and let a small smile grow on her face. “The  _ best.”  _

 

“ _ Why _ ?” Tony growls, trying to shake the kid off of him. “I never asked for this.” 

 

“Kids do that to you,” Clint said.

 

Tony took a double take. “Well, he's not  _ my  _ kid,” he sputtered.

 

Steve raised an eyebrow but took a sip from his water bottle. Tony glared, and he whistled. 

 

“Well,” Sam said. “Pretty much.” 

 

Offended, Tony gave one last attempt at pushing the child off of him. He didn't budge. “I think it's cute,” Natasha spoke from behind her camera. Her small smile turned into a huge grin. 

 

“No,” he said sternly, reaching for the camera. “No.” His arm, reaching for the camera, left Spider-Man’s head unsupported. He didn't fall completely though, whether that's a good or a bad thing. His feet wrapped around his arm and he fell straight down. 

 

“Where did you find him?” Steve asked, failing at hiding his smile. 

 

“Graveyard,” he replied, and his face fell. “He was--” 

 

The kid started shifting a bit, curling up. A grumble escaped his lips and his face scrunched up in discomfort. “Lay him down,” Bruce suggested, gesturing towards the couch. 

 

“I would if I could!” Tony yelled, starting to get frustrated. He frantically shook the child on his arm. 

 

“Calm down, Tony,” Steve said. “Just take a seat.” 

 

Tony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Too old for this,” he grumbled, plopping down on his couch. “Too young to feel too old.” Natasha set a movie to play, and they all sat down to watch. 

 

“What was he doing in a cemetery?” Steve asked halfway through the movie. “As Spider-Man.” 

 

“He wouldn't have fallen asleep with his mask on,” Natasha said. “He had to have crashed.” 

 

“Poor kid,” Sam mused. “Clever, too.” 

 

“No kidding,” Tony scoffed. “What type of youngin’ is smart enough to hack  _ my  _ AI?” 

 

Bruce cut in, “We don't  _ for sure  _ know his age.” 

 

“He's definitely under twenty,” Natasha clarified. “Still in school, high-school of college.”

 

“You know that how?” Sam asked. Ah, silly Sam, a recent join. One does not simply question how Natasha knows what she knows. 

 

“I’ll put my money on highschool,” Clint says, talking over Sam. 

 

“Why?” He asks again. 

 

“Because I don't want it to be  _ middle-school _ .” 

 

And, yeah, that's a good point. No one wants to find a middle schooler dressing up as a superhero, bleeding out in dark alleys, and falling asleep in graveyards. 

 

But that's what happened. Tony’s almost 100% he's a student of some sort. 

 

Said student rolled over in his sleep, still stuck to Tony. He really didn't know how he was going to get out of this one, and, honestly, he didn't care. His eyes were closing during the Disney movie. Before he knew it, he had fallen asleep just like the kid. 

 

The Avengers woke up little by little. Steve and Natasha were already dressed by the time Hawkeye woke up. When Tony woke up, he was surprised to find Spider-Man still sprawled on top of him. 

 

“He's outslept me?” Hawkeye laughs, perching on top of the couch. “New record! What time is it?” 

 

“It's 1:00,” Steve replied, raising an eyebrow. “Is he unconscious?” He gestured towards Spider-Man, who was snoozing away. 

 

“You know,” Tony snickered, “this is a perfect chance to find out who’s hiding underneath that mask.” When Steve slapped his hand, he held his hands up in defense. “I wasn't going to do it!” 

 

Spider-Man stirred, sitting up. He stared off into the distance for a few moments, waking up. Tony tapped his shoulder. “You can get off of me now,” he suggested, annoyed. 

 

“Huh?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes through his mask. “Wha…? How did I end up back here?” Panic rose in his voice and he jumped off of Tony. 

 

“Chill,” Clint demanded. “You crashed in a cemetery, and Tony kidnapped you.” 

 

“Hey! It's not kidnapping!” Tony defended. “...Right? Nat, back me up.” 

 

She shook her head. “Your form of adoption is illegal, Tony,” she said. 

 

“Adoption?” he croaked. “Where did--?” 

 

“Uh, I'll pass,” Spider-Man said. “I'm a full grown adult!” He beat his chest. “I'm an independent spider who doesn't need anyone!” 

 

“Uh huh,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. Spider-Man crossed his arms over his chest. “I bet you still live with your mom,” he teased. 

 

Spider-Man stiffened. His playful manner faded. Without his facial expressions on display, it was hard to tell what he was thinking. From the way his shoulders dropped and how he shrunk two feet, his distraught was obvious. 

 

“N- _ no, _ ” he barked out a fake laugh. “ _ Course not! _ ” The forced laugh sent shivers down everyone’s spines. 

 

“Spider-Man…” Steve started, but Spider-Man didn't let him continue the thought. 

 

He rose from the couches and stretched a small bit. He plopped down on the floor and started reaching for his toes. “Why did you guys pick me up?” He asked, changing the subject. 

 

He held for a few seconds before switching into the downward dog. He made eye contact with a confused Steve. “We want to talk to you about that,” he announced. 

 

Peter sat in a butterfly stretch. “Concerning what?” 

 

Shuffling sounded. 

 

“Octavious.”

 

Peter eased back on his stretch. He brought his feet closer to him. “W-What about him?” he asked, feigning a cough to make the stutter less noticeable. “No need; no need! He doesn’t know anything about Norman, right? He was his henchman.” 

 

“You think Norman is alive,” Natasha said. “Did Octavious say something to make you think that?” 

 

Peter held his head to his right. “The day you rescued me,” he explained, “was the day my identity was revealed to him. That’s how I remembered it. Norman left to endanger someone close to me.” He shook his head. “No; no. I shouldn’t be telling you this. I’m sorry.” 

 

A hand rested on his shoulder. “Please,” Bruce encouraged. 

 

Peter nodded, continuing hesitantly. “Norman knew me, civilian me. I was… a friend,” he said. “So when he lifted my mask, he knew who to go after. And, that individual, has gone missing.” 

 

“You know this’d be a lot easier if you told us who this ‘individual’ was,” Tony added, “Or maybe who you are.” 

 

He leaned back defensively. “No,” he said sternly. “I can’t. I’m letting you know too much just by telling you I knew them personally.” 

 

“How are we going to search for this person if you won’t tell us who he or she is?” Clint sighed. Peter shrugged. 

 

“I’m going to go investigate Octavious,” Natasha said. She turned to leave, and Clint darted after her. Steve was waiting for them in the doorway. The two agents stepped into the elevator. 

 

“I don’t know what we will find,” Steve called, “But we’re preparing for war here. We’ll get this ‘individual’ back, Spider-Man.” He joined the two, and the elevator shut. 

 

Tony clapped his hands together. “You heard him. Start the war preparations.” He cupped a hand to his mouth. “Pull the lever, Cronk! To our secret lab!” Bruce let out a heavy sigh. 

 

“Join us if you’d like, Spider-Man,” he requested before following the other scientist. 

 

His stomach growled at him in realization it was morning and he hadn’t ate. He reached for an apple to take a bite out of when he realized the Falcon was staring at him. 

“I volunteer with the CPS,” he said suddenly. Spider-Man’s shoulders dropped. “Troubled teens, runaways, and the occasional missing child now and then.” 

 

Peter dropped the bitten apple. He tensed. “O-Oh, yeah? That’s interesting.” 

 

“I may be wrong. It may be a coincidence,” the Falcon said, playing with his straw. “There’s been a recent flood of missing teenagers. I’ve been helping with this one case, you see? The Aunt recently suffered a heart attack, and now her son has gone missing. He  _ also  _ happens to be a good friend of Harry Osborn.” 

 

Peter was at a loss for words. Sam continued, “This could be a coincidence.” He leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “But I don’t think so, Harry.” 

 

_ What? _

 

Peter wanted to laugh out of relief. He isn’t this lucky. “Don’t worry! I won’t tell anyone who you are,” he whispered. “We’ll catch the ‘individual.’ I promise you that. We’ll get your dad back, kid.”

 

_ W-What? _

 

“R-Right,” Peter stuttered. 

  
_ What have I done? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For someone who took journalism, I don't write articles too well! I just wanted to put that tiny lil thing up there, if anyone cares. 
> 
> Basically: three people died during his attack (from stupid accidents - he didn't stab them or anything; they just got crushed in the attack is all)
> 
> Sam thinks Spider-Man is Harry Osborn, trying to save his dad. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed! Don't forget to leave a like and a comment, if you enjoyed! They're the only things that ever make me wanna update during exam week(s)! 
> 
> I love you all!


	4. Things Didn't Go as Planned (When do they ever?)

By the time Spider-Man reached the lab, the two scientists were already hard at work with machinery. Tony was tinkering with his armor, and Bruce was handling some gauntlets. 

 

“The third science bro has finally joined us!” Tony roars, biting his pen in his mouth so he can work with his hands. He waves, a pair of scissors in hand. 

 

“Tony, do not wave those around!” Bruce squeaked, setting down his screwdriver. “Hey, Spidey.” 

 

“Hi,” he waved. “What’re you guys working on?” 

 

“ _ Well,  _ since you asked,” Tony smirks, taking off into an explanation. “War preparations!” 

 

“Same here,” Bruce said. “These are Widow’s gauntlets, and I'm just giving them a couple repairs.”

 

“If there's anything you need to work on, feel free. There's a desk over there,” Tony mumbled around the pen in his mouth. Bruce swatted at him, 

 

Peter nodded, because, yeah, there were a couple things he needed to fix. For one thing, his webshooters were crushed from Octavious’s torture. His suit has seen better days, too. 

 

He slipped his broken webshooters out of his pockets and dumped them on the table. It didn't take too long to fix them, but recreating his webbing did. He set the formula out, waiting for it to finish. 

 

He glanced down at his Spider-Man suit. He had civilian clothes, underneath. Actually, he still wore the clothes Tony lent him. He felt a little funny taking off his clothes in the lab, though. 

 

He slipped behind a curtain to take off his shirt and pants, leaving him in Tony’s clothing. He wore the black tank top and the Iron Man pajama pants again. He stepped back into the lab. 

 

“Did Tony pick that out for you?” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow. He walked to the shelf beside him, picking up an arrow. Peter nodded. 

 

Peter set down the suit and started to hem it. Octavious had cut his suit up really bad, and he had yet to repair it. 

 

A lump of clothing was set down on his desk. “Here,” Bruce offered. 

 

“Thank you,” he chirped, picking up the clothes. 

 

He slid behind the curtain to change into the gym shorts and Bruce’s tee shirt. 

 

He returned to his desk to find Tony meddling with his suit. “What’re you doing?” he asked, slightly defensive. 

 

“Octavious did all that to your suit?” Tony asked. “Is this spandex? Kid, after all this is over, I'm making you a new suit.” 

 

“Hey, I like my suit,” he retorted, picking up his needle to finish the last tear in the pants. 

 

Black Widow stormed into the lab suddenly. “We have a lead on Norman,” she announced. “We secured a location.” 

 

Bruce picked up the arrows and slid them into a bag. Peter followed his example and popped his finished webshooters on his wrist. He started to slip on his suit when Tony yanked his collar. He yelped, bundled up his suit in his arms, and he let Tony drag him. 

 

He was pushed into the Quinjet where Steve, Sam, and Natasha were waiting for them, all armored up. Bruce dropped the bag of arrows in Clint’s hand. The door shut behind them, and JARVIS had the ship moving in no time. 

 

“Octavious, the idiot, left some bots around, which led us to an old warehouse,” Sam briefed when everyone was on board. Peter slipped his shirt over his head. “He's hiding something there.” 

 

Sam slipped into the seat next to Peter. “We’ll get your dad back,” he promised, and Peter almost snorted. 

 

“Thanks,” he said, concealing a giggle. 

 

“And your friend,” he added. “Peter, was it?” Peter wanted to  _ die.  _ A laugh escaped his time, but he covered it up with a cough. 

 

“Focus,” Steve ordered, snapping the two of them out of their conversation. The door was open and the Avengers had already slipped out. 

 

Spider-Man snapped into attention. 

 

_ May,  _ he thought to himself.  _ I can't wait to see May.  _

 

He’d give anything to see May and Harry again. Even if it’d be problematic if Sam was Spider-Man and Harry in the same room together, it’d be worth it. Harry was his friend. 

 

“Stay here,” Steve ordered.

 

Bruce set some c-4 on the door. He scrambled back away, still in his civilian form, and detonated the bomb. The doors of the warehouse flew open, and the Avengers stormed in. 

 

Peter spent weeks with Octavious. He grew accustomed to the feeling of his tendrils squeaking his neck until he couldn't breathe, until he was at the point death seemed better. 

 

And, now, his aunt was being held in the same grasp. His fist clenched, and he sprinted forward. “Wait!” Captain America ordered, but he didn't listen. 

 

Norman was ducked behind a shield, Octavious providing it. In one of his tendrils, a shaken up old woman was held captive. 

 

_ May.  _

 

“Let her go!” Spider-Man screamed, charging in. 

 

“Kid, I told you to stay with Bruce!” Tony Stark groaned, lowering his blasters. 

 

Peter stuck out his tongue. 

 

“Spider-Man?” Octavious asked. “Just in time for the show.” 

 

Tony fired non-stop at the shield barrier. Octavious stood at the front line to keep the barrier up. As soon as it fell, an arrow was fired at his tendrils. The Avengers pushed through, but Peter went straight for May. 

 

One of his tendrils with a sharp blade attached raised and stood before May’s chest. 

 

“No!” He yelled, taking off. He sprinted at full speed towards Octavious, kicking him away. But it was too late. 

 

The ruckus had caused him to miss by a few inches, but it was a hit nonetheless. 

 

“May,” he seethed, catching the woman as she fell to the ground. “You're going to be fine. I-I--” 

 

The fight was still there. Norman was still up, and Octavious would rise soon. “May,” he rasped. 

 

His hands flew to the bottom of his mask, so May could look and see Peter one last time. He knew deep down she wasn't going to get out of this. 

 

A shaky hand raised and grabbed his own. “I know,” she said, hacking. “I love you.” 

 

“May, May, please,” he begged, holding her close. 

 

“Ben would be proud,” she said. “I know he would.” Her hand traced the lines of his face before falling at her side. She shook for a moment, trembling in his arms, before stopping abruptly. 

 

No tears fell. Peter stared in shock, holding the limp body in his lap. He didn't even tremble. 

 

He set her on the ground as gently as he could before slowly rising to his feet. 

 

He reached down to grab a shard of glass. He planted a kiss to Aunt May’s forehead. 

 

“Ben, May,” he promised under his breath, “I hope you'll still be proud of me after this.” He twirled it in his hand, and he lunged forward. 

 

Peter’s body disconnected from his mind. His head was vacant of any thought, and his body moved for him. He walked toward and climbed up on Doctor Octavious. The octopus tried to throw him off, but he clung to him moving slow. 

 

He brought his glass dagger close to his chest, right where Aunt May had been stabbed, and brought it down. Before the dagger could make contact, arms wrapped around him and pulled him down. His body was thrown across the room and he landed with a  _ splat  _ against the wall. 

 

He didn't move. There was a loud ringing in his ears when he came to his senses. 

 

_ Oh, God. I was going to…!  _

 

He shook his head frantically. He looked up to Aunt May; he looked to the Avengers fighting her killers. He gulped. 

 

_ I was going to take his life.  _

 

Peter dropped the glass in his hand. His glove was warm with blood and he slipped it off. He aimed his webshooters towards Norman’s feet. 

 

The Falcon had brought Octavious down into the ground. His tendrils had all been cut off. Peter webbed him to the ground. 

 

The barrier left Goblin vulnerable. Before him, Hawkeye was pulling back an arrow aimed for his face. Peter let out a yelp, pushing Goblin out of the way. He crashed into the ground, and Peter kept him down. 

 

Hawkeye never misses, though. He pulled his arrow down to avoid hitting Peter, and it landed in the Goblin’s thigh. “I'm sorry,” he apologized. 

 

“SHIELD is on its way,” Black Widow informed. She slipped a phone into her pocket. 

 

“Spider-Man,” Sam whispered , “I know May was a family friend, but…”

 

He swatted his hand away. “She was more than that,” he said. “Don't do anything to Goblin. We can fix him.” 

 

“Where are you going?” Steve called. 

 

Peter stopped in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder. “I have business to take care of.” He squatted down next to Aunt May and picked up her lifeless body. “I'll see you around.” 

 

He walked to the window and shot a web to the nearest building. No one stopped him. 

  
  
  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took me ages to write! I am not the best at FIGHT scenes, so just bear with me here…. I revised it a number of times, and this is the best way to do it…. I don't feel like I killed her off properly, but she was going to die @ some point and I hope this suits her justice. She isn't just a useless death; I promise. Sorry, aunt may :(
> 
> lol luv u guys


	5. Be Not So Fearful

The stench of sweat, blood, and a mixture of other strange fluids never left him. 

 

After a fight, he let himself collapse on a rooftop of a skyscraper. Lately he's found himself like this, staring up at the stars, trying to find his place in the world. He lifts his mask over his nose and inhales sharply. 

 

He hasn't been able to wash his suit in days. Visiting his home is dangerous. He can't even go to his school. If he does, he knows he's going to be confronted about his large absence. The CPS is after him, without a doubt. 

 

Last time he checked, he and his aunt were listed under a missing persons list. However, Spider-Man knew where both missing persons were. Peter Parker is stranded, and May Parker is six feet under ground. 

 

No one else seemed to care. As soon as enough time passed, he knew the searches would stop. He had no friends left, nor a family. 

 

He hugged his knees to his chest, and he let out a heavy sigh. “I can smell you across New York,” a voice said, and Peter was too tired to look around. His Spidey Sense didn't go off, so he just settled deeper into his spot. 

 

“Nice to see you too, Daredevil,” he greeted. 

 

The two have teamed up on occasion. He's not much of a conversationalist, and Peter’s pretty sure he's a hated man.  _ “Bathe,” _ he ordered. “Take care of yourself.” 

 

Peter lazily lifted up a thumbs down and made a spitting noise. “For one who insists he is not a child, you hesitate little to act like one,” Daredevil said, walking to the ledge. “This is your first and final warning: go home. I am not the first to tell you this.” 

 

Peter was going to growl a protest, but the devil was already gone. He hummed, rolling over. 

 

He sniffed the suit again. 

 

This was getting really bad. 

 

He couldn't just break into his house. It’d draw too much attention. Not to mention, what would his neighbors think of Spider-Man strolling through the neighborhood up to his doorsteps. It wasn't going to work. 

 

He hasn't showered, slept, or eaten in weeks. The suit smells, and it's constantly being pressed against his nose. 

 

“Fine!” he hissed to no one in particular. 

 

Reaching his house was not the hard part. Getting  _ inside  _ the house was the hard part. He lay across the street, his hands as makeshift binoculars, and scoped his house. All the lights were turned out in the neighborhood. 

 

He crawled down the side of the building. The street was silent. No cars would be driving around this late at night. 

 

Hidden in the grass, he slipped off his mask and suit. He bundled it up in his hands, and waited for the right moment to sprint across the street, barefoot, into his bushes. He waited a few moments before crawling up the side of his house and slipping through the backdoor. 

 

His house was a complete mess. His refrigerator door was swung open, and its contents were spread out all over the floor. A swarm of flies buzzed over a tray of meatloaf. He gagged and plugged his nose. 

 

The rest of the house was in the same state as the kitchen. His heart fluttered when he saw a range of holes in the wall, and he thought of his aunt. He swallowed down the vomit building in his throat and walked up to his room. 

 

Then, he heard a crash. A tremor went up his spine, and he ducked behind a door. He ducked his Spider-Man suit into a gym bag that lay outside his bathroom. 

 

Rustling noises came from his room. “This place is a mess!” He hears an exasperated man complain. 

 

“You're not doing much to help it,” another man chimes in. “Stop whining, and help.” 

 

“Help with what? This is going nowhere,” the first voice whined again. “This Peter kid has booked it.” 

 

And there it was. The blatant use of  _ kid _ that Peter hated so much. 

 

Iron Man was in his house.  _ Oh, God.  _

 

“No, he wouldn't. Think, he was involved with Norman. Maybe he was kidnapped, too?” 

 

“Then he's dead,” Iron Man said, and his heart snaps. “Like his aunt. He would've came back by now.” 

 

He cursed himself. He needed to leave, like yesterday. 

 

“There has to be a clue here,” the man said. “You keep looking in his room.”

 

“I don't want to,” Tony said simply. “Dead end! Why are you looking so far into this case? More importantly, why did you drag me here with you?” 

 

“ _ Because this might have something to do with Spider-Man _ !” the man snapped, and Peter recognizes him: the Falcon. 

 

“Hmm,” Tony mused. “Spidey did say Norman found out his civilian name.  _ Oh,  _ maybe it's his son! What was his name? Harrison? Harriet?”

 

“Harry,” Sam corrected. 

 

“Sounds like something out of a comic book,” he mused. “Superhero is the son of a supervillian? A classic archetype across history! This has  _ got  _ to be him!” 

 

Peter clasps a hand over his face and sighed quietly. 

 

Sam stepped out into the hallway. He had a phone pressed to his ear. "Any luck?" There's a pause, and Peter hears a muffled voice over the phone. "Really? The kid's gotta be in New York... Check school attendance. If Parker hasn't attended school since the Goblin attack, he could be locked in one of his secret labs. Maybe even with Norman's son." The voice on the other side hummed. "Call me back if you find anything. Tony and I are look over the kid's house in the meantime. Place's a wreck from Octavious. I still don't quite understand why... Alright, see you later." He ended the call. 

 

Peter froze, not moving a muscle. He had nowhere to go. Sam was rubbing his forehead with his eyes squeezed shut. 

 

Peter sucked in a deep breath. 

 

Then, the eyes opened to find an empty hallway. 

 

Peter held his breathing in hopes the Falcon wouldn’t glance up.

 

Cause if he did, he would’ve found Peter Parker clinging to the ceiling fan. 

 

_ Parker luck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this is a lil' bit short! sometimes my chapters are like 3 pages and other times they're 10... no inbetween.. i guess it's just the events??? don't wanna make it too boring
> 
> i love u guys and i hope u all have a lovely rest of the day! and good luck on everyone's exams! study hard guys and make sure to take breaks, naps, showers, and breakfast (very important)! Take care


	6. 6: Part One

The next time the Avengers run into Spider-Man, things go as expected. After the battle with Octavious and Norman Osborn, the kid had vanished for a whole week. Sam requested of the team that they leave him alone, no questions asked.

Tony was at his wit’s end. The news was filled with countless stories of how Spider-Man has recently thrown himself into a flaming building. His fist would clench, but he withdrew from making any actions.

That was, until, he was brought to the attention of a new article.

Call him a stalker or a worried father all you want, but he was worried. So what if he told JARVIS to notify him if anything about Spider-Man popped up on the news? Anyone would be worried, really.

“SPIDER-MAN FALLING ASLEEP ON THE JOB” read the headline, and Tony snorted. At first, he kind of just shrugged and thought the Bugle was running out of interesting things to report. Looks can be deceiving, however.

Turns out Spider-Man had just passed out in the middle of a fight. When police went to investigate, they found him snoring. While this sounds comedic, the reporter assures the audience it was not, as Spider-Man had suffered through a numerous count of stabbing in his sleeping state.

Tony banged his head against the table. “Get the team, JARVIS,” he commanded. “We’re going out.”

This was the last straw.

The Avengers landed down in the streets of Manhattan to find Spider-Man pressed up against a wall. Tony landed with a thud on the rooftop, but the hero made no stir. He was slumped against the wall on the floor, hand over a pool of red leaking through his suit.

“Spider-Man?” Tony called out. He crouched down and poked his shoulder. The kid shook and scrambled away from him. “It's ok. Just me.”

The frantic scrambling reminded him of just a week ago, how scared he was. He was acting just… just like a child.

In this moment, Spider-Man was no different than the children they save on the job. Lost, abandoned, stranded far from their mothers, from their brothers. Spider-Man was one of them.

“Leave me alone,” he said, trying to make his voice stable as possible. It came out as a whine.

“No can do,” Clint said. “Look, kid--”

“I am not a child!” he roared. He curled in upon himself. “I'm not. I can take care of myself.”

“Whether you are a child or not is not the point. Tony's an adult and he can't take care of himself,” Natasha teased.

“Rude,” Tony hissed. “But true.”

He cupped his ears. “No, I just…”

“I promise we’ll leave you alone,” Sam said, crouching down to his level. He sat across from him. He held his hand out for him to take, but Spider-Man didn't move. “You've been in the suit 24/7. You need some time to be… you. The you that doesn't get beaten up.”

A bubbly laugh escaped his lips. “Who said civilian me didn't get beaten up?” He choked on his own laughter. “I appreciate the concern, but this is me. The civilian me is gone.”

“I know the loss of your dad was hard,” Sam said, and Peter cut him off with hysterical laughing. Steve mouthed the word “dad?” but Sam didn't turn to explain.

Peter laughed until he was slumped over, cradling his ribs. “My father had been dead for years,” he laughed.

“Spidey--”

His laughter stopped abruptly. “Leave!” he demanded, sitting up. His right hand nursed his chest. “Please, I want to be alone.”

“Do you?” Natasha asked, and Peter nodded. “Do you really? How long are you going to continue like this? When's the last time you ate? Properly slept?”

He shook his head.

“All of us are worried. We want you to come stay with us,” Steve said.

“I don’t need you,” he spat, sobbing. “Leave me alone. I can take care of myself. I can! You watch me.” He staggered to his feet.

“I don’t need you,” he chanted, backing away.

And, then, there was a flash of green.

A scream.

Then, nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shrug


	7. 6: Part 2

Peter couldn't talk with the fingers shoved into his mouth. His feet hung off the ground, and his head spun at the sudden movement. Sharp fingernails dug into the side of his head.

He struggled to get a look at his captor, but all he could see was green. “Hulk?” he mumbled, confused. “Let me go!” He writhed around in his grasp.

He felt a knife cut across his face. He let out a hiss of pain. “Shame, Parker, can't even recognize an old friend.”

The movement stopped suddenly, and Peter was thrown harshly against the floor. A smaller version of the Green Goblin jumped off of his hoverboard. Peter hopped back on his face. “Norman?” He asked, breathless. “But you're in prison!”

“Guess again,” he hummed darkly, stepping closer.

Spider-Man’s eyes narrowed. “Harry?”

“Ding ding ding!” he announced. “The one and only. Well, sort of.” He gestured towards his copycat Green Goblin get up.

“Why?” He asked, and he didn't even try to hide his hurt.

“If I bring your head in on a plate, maybe Daddy will love me again,” he sings mockingly. “JK. I don't think he cares at all anymore. He's so obsessed with you, Peter. Almost as if he wants you to be his son.”

He waltz on his feet. “Actually, that's exactly what it is,” he explained. “Anyways, prepare to die, bla bla bla. You know the deal.”

“Real original,” he retorted. Harry, no, not Harry anymore, lunged towards him. He dodged his punch, but the drowsiness of late nights were catching up to him fast.

“Maybe you should sit this one out. You're looking a little green!” Peter called, jumping off the building to avoid his blaster.

“Your jokes are still terrible,” he grunted, pulling a machine gun seemingly out of nowhere.

He placed a hand over his heart. “Rude,” he hissed. “You loved my jokes. Liar.”

“No one did,” his opponent said. “Not me, not Mary Jane, not even your pathetic aunt.”

He knew he was trying to get under his skin. He was using his aunt as a weakness to hold him down. “Struck a nerve, Parker? It hurts, doesn't it? To lose someone you love?” He asked, voice vaguely similar to Harry Osborn. His tone quickly changed. “You did this to me! You did this!”

Harry’s hands found its way up to Peter’s neck. Peter choked as he was thrown up against a wall. His feet dangled helplessly.

“That's enough,” Tony Stark said, his boosters signaling his landing. If not for his rockets, the loud clunk of his armor landing would've gave him away.

The grip on his throat didn't lessen. It tightened, and Peter was thrown across the rooftop. He rolled until he hit splat against a wall.

I’m on a rooftop, he thinks to himself. There are no walls.

He hesitantly looks up to find the Hulk standing there. He gulped, but he felt a giant green hand come down and pat him not-so-gently on the head. Hulk jumped, leaving him stunned on the ground.

The Green Goblin 2.0 was fighting dirty. He kept hitting low blows, and none of it was working. Well, maybe just a little bit. The blame was heavy on Peter’s shoulders, and Hawkeye kept him pulled back.

The young kid was no match for the Avengers. Peter would've been able to defeat him in his own time, but the other heroes wrapped it up under a minute.

The Goblin was pressed against the ground under Hulk. He simply sat on top of him while Tony dialed for SHIELD to come lift him up.

Peter hesitantly approached. He webbed him down, so the Hulk could get up. He crouched down so Harry could see him.

“I don't know how you escaped from prison, Osborn, but we’ll get you back there,” Sam promised, and Harry chuckled.

“Idiots,” he laughed. “You're all idiots! Do you even realize that you're doing? He's the real enemy! A monster! A menace!” He pointed an accusation at Peter. “Disgusting.”

“I know this isn't you, Harry,” he said, touching his face. “I can help you. Please.” He whispered.

Goblin shifted around in his hold. He spat in Peter’s voice. “You still care.”

He nodded eagerly. “I do. I do. Please,” he begged, and he wrapped his arms around him. He pressed his face into his shoulder. “Harry, you're all I have left. My only friend…”

He felt the hands press against his back in the return of a hug. He yelped at the sudden feeling, but quickly grew accustomed to it. He let a wry smile dance under his mask. He sunk deeper into the hug until he felt the hands disappear.

The goblin retreated, his hands free and a dagger in hand, and he pressed the sharp end to his chest. “Monster,” he growled. “You don't deserve friends.” He pressed at the end of the knife and dug it deep into his chest.

Peter roared, drawing the attention of the Avengers. The rumble of a SHIELD ship landing wasn't enough to tear him out of his thoughts.

“Harry! Please!” he begged, and he felt his face grow wet under the mask. “No! No! You were all I had left!”

  
He gave up being Peter. He gave up being a child.

Peter hadn't realized he was crying until he heard a sob escape his lips.

This was the first time he had cried since May died. The shock had stayed with him, and he spent the week with dry eyes. It wasn't until the Avengers confronted him that everything came crashing down.

He hated this. He was curled up into a feeble ball crying in front of his heroes. How childish could he be? He gave up being a child. He can't cry like this.

The Avengers pressed closer, and he rebelled. He staggered on unsteady feet.

He was outnumbered. A feeble, mere sick child who has no hope left in him. Shaking, quivering, trembling alone against a team of six, highly trained adults.

He knew the Avengers were going easy on him. He knows because he would've been caught a long time ago, if they weren't.

He curled in on himself. His face felt stuffy under the mask. His face was hot with wet tears. His eyes fluttered shut when he could take it no longer.

There was warmth pressing against his chin. His eyes were squeezed shut, trapping in his tears. His shoulders shook with every choke. The warmth tugged at his mask, and he froze. “Please.”

“Let’s go back to the tower,” Tony said, and it sounded like a promise.

A heartbeat passed. Peter couldn't see what was happening through watery eyes, but he could feel the hands prodding at his mask.

Peter Parker is dead. You're Spider-Man.

He slammed down on the brakes. His adhesive ability allowed him to hide his tear-struck face.

“I'm sorry,” he chanted. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I did this. It's all my fault.” His entire body trembled. He hid his face in his knees, and he wouldn't look up at the heroes in front of him.

He could play pretend all he wanted. He wasn't Peter anymore. He wasn't Spider-Man.

He wasn't anything.

The warmth pressed against his chin again. “Let go,” the voice said gently, and he doesn't know why but he does.

He's fought for his secret identity for as long as he's had one. He fought for May, for Ben, for his friends. He held on even after they were gone.

A single touch of an Avenger made him throw it all away.

His mask is lifted off of his face and as soon as it is, a rush of cold air hits his face and he charges forward to hide himself in even colder metal.

“Nick, wrap this up for us. We’re going home.”

Peter doesn't look. He's being lifted up, and he hates himself for letting this happen. He lets himself be carried in his arms. He feels like such a child, but he doesn't care anymore. He's too tired to.

He's still shaking in Tony’s arms. The others still haven't seen his face, and it only serves to make him more anxious.

There's a camera flash, and he buries himself deeper. “Clint.”

“Nat, don't worry. I promise I'll print you a copy too.”

“Clint.”

Peter grips on tighter to the armor. His eyes start to drop over his face.

He's still crying when they land inside the tower. His sobs are inaudible now. No one would tell he was crying if it wasn't for his trembling shoulders, his curled up posture, and the clinging of his hands.

Tony lands in the living room. Natasha and Clint are already their, via SHIELD jet. The Falcon, carrying Steve, lands not long after Tony. Bruce, the Hulk, is nowhere to be seen at the moment.

“Spidey,” Tony says. “You can let go now.” Peter does, very slowly. He lets his feet touch the ground, but he doesn't remove his face from the crook of his arm.

He swallows the blood in his mouth. He can almost hear May scold him with a sharp, “Manners.”

He turns around.

Bruce, stepping in through the room, drops his tray. He stares, eyes wide, mimicking everyone else in the room.

Before them in red and blue spandex stood Peter Parker, a scrawny kid with ruffled brown hair and brown doe eyes.

“Middle-school,” Clint hissed.

“No,” Peter mumbled, and his voice was hoarse from crying. “I'm not a baby. I'm almost sixteen!”

Tony wants to pass out in shock. He had to sit down on the couch. Natasha was blank in the face. Hawkeye’s face was crinkled up at every edge.

Steve Roger’s was another story. His, along with Sam’s, was hot red with anger.

Peter melted under their gaze. “You've been out there all alone,” Sam says. “You're so little.”

Peter knew this was a mistake.

What was he thinking?

He shouldn't have ever let them see his face. He shouldn't have gotten involved with them in the first place. He should've known this was going to turn out the way it was.

He was scrambled for the window when he heard Tony laugh. “I learned your tricks. You're not hacking JARVIS again.”

Peter stopped in his tracks. His face was a mess; he was sure of that. “We don't mean to upset you,” Sam said, but Steve cut him off.

“What were you thinking?” he exclaimed. “You're so reckless! You are a child, and don't you forget that!”

He melted. “I'm not!” he protested weakly.

“You. Are. A. Child.” Steve growled. “You may be a hero, but you're still a kid. You can't go out there by yourself.”

“I can!” He protested, and his voice didn't sound as confident as he had hoped. His voice wavered and dropped, but he stood firmly. “I can help people--”

“Help yourself,” Sam said gently. “Is there anyone we can call? Who’s been taking care of you?”

His shoulders dropped. “Just me,” he mumbled, kicking his feet. “I'm the last one.”

Steve grit his teeth. “No,” he said, and he didn't wait. He jumped off his feet and yanked Peter into a hug. Peter’s hand hovered in shock. The tears streamed down his face, but no sound escaped his lips. His face was empty. He settled into the hug, face blank. “It's okay.”

Peter hesitantly grabs on to his arm. He squeezes his eyes shut and hides his face.

He hates himself for acting like this.

They stayed like that for a while until Peter started to pull away. He was getting gross tears all over Steve. He huffed and pulled back, but to his surprise his hand would not leave. Steve raised an eyebrow and glanced down at the kid’s glove glued to his sleeve.

“I can't let go,” he explains, terrified. His eyes are blown wide. “I am so sorry.” A scarlet red dust brushes his cheeks.

A camera flash goes off, and Peter whines. “This is so precious,” hisses Clint with a camera in his hands.

“How? Why is this happening?” Bruce inquired, curious. He grabbed ahold of Peter’s hand and yanked, testing the grip.

Peter’s blush darkens. “It, uh, it happens sometimes. The adhesive ability I use doesn't always work with me,” he explained, embarrassed.

“You said it happens sometimes?” Tony asked. “How'd you get it stop?”

He shrugged. “After a little while, it wears off.” He bit his lip.

The last time this had happened was with his Mary Jane. His hand stuck tight to her hand, but she never minded it too much. She never knew he was Spider-Man. She passed the hand holding off as a trick Peter was playing at.

Peter’s heart swelled.

A trouble look must've passed his face for a heavy hand ruffled his brown locks. He stuck his tongue out at Steve. He drags his free hand to wipe at his tears. “When's the last time you got a good night’s sleep, son?”

Peter blinked. “I don't know,” he replied. He hasn't slept in a long time. He doesn't tell them that. “Why?”

“Cause you look like you're gonna tip over,” Sam finished for him. “Go catch some sleep.”

“‘M not tired,” he mumbled.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Even teenagers need bedtimes.”

“I'm not tired,” he whined again. He brings his other hand up to wipe at his puffy eyes.

His eyes, red and stiff from the crying, fluttered shut. His stomach growled.

“Maybe we should order dinner,” Tony suggested. “What do you want to eat, kid?” Peter shrugged.

“Pizza?” Clint suggested. He hadn't said much from his perch on top of the fridge. He's pressed against the far wall and twisting an arrow in his hand.

“JARVIS, you know what to do,” Tony called, and JARVIS complied.

“Spidey, what do you take on your pizza?” Sam asked, looking to his right.

Spider-Man was completely tipped over. His face had no expression and his eyes were closed shut. His mouth was open and releasing small snores, but his grip on Steve’s arm didn't tear.

“He… fell asleep,” Sam said, astounded.

Steve smiled wryly and picked the sleeping Spider up and tossed him on the couch beside him. A blanket was thrown over him, covering his entire body.

***

Clint writhed in his bed. His face was distorted at every turn, and beads of sweat coated his entire body. His eyes shot open, and he grabbed a grip hold on the arrow under his pillow.

He clicked a button on the side.

Within seconds, Natasha was at his side, cupping his face. “Clint,” she called gently.

“I know those eyes,” he said. Natasha didn't push for more. She pressed against him for comfort. He pushed his face into her neck. “Those eyes. I know them.”

His shoulders shook gently. “Clint?” She called, pulling away to look in his wide eyes.

“I know it,” he seethed. “He's Mary’s son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all left so many nice comments; I just had to upload this early <3 
> 
> This was already pre-written; so ch7 will take a bit longer. 
> 
> Love you all thank you all for ur support


	8. Chapter 7

Peter must've let go some time in the night because he found himself alone in the morning. Panic was the first feeling to rise, but he was quickly comforted by the sound of laughter.

He peeked his head up from the dining room couch to the small kitchen Stark had installed. There was a long table set out a few feet over.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Sam greeted. “Are you hungry? Yeah, you are. Get up.” He playfully yanked him off of the couch and threw him in a chair at the table where the others were already seated.

Tony set down a coffee in front of him, and he scrunched up his face. Tony had a huge mug that read “coffee = fuel” all for himself. Steve came by generously and set down the coffee creamer and sugars in front of him. Peter blushed in memory of yesterday and ducked down to avoid his eyes. He hit his elbow on the table in the process.

Steve laughed. “Son, don't worry about it,” he consoled. He nodded, blush still lingering.

A plate of pancakes was set in front of him by Hawkeye. He looked to thank him, but Hawkeye had already brashly turned away. Peter sunk a little bit. He covered his face with his hand.

“What's wrong now?” Sam prodded, slipping into the seat next to him. Bruce sat on his other side.

He shook his head. “Nothin’,” he mumbled, keeping his head casted down. He struggled to change the subject. “Do you guys eat like this everyday?”

Bruce says, “Not exactly. Today is a… ‘special occasion,’ if you will.” He cut up his pancakes with a fork and a knife. Tony had stuffed an entire pancake in his mouth and was stuffing another one in before fully chewing the first.

“What holiday is it?” He asked, eyeing Hawkeye carefully. In one hand he held his plate, and the other he used to scale to the top of the fridge. He shook away the frown on his face.

“Not a holiday,” someone said, flicking him in his temple. “We have a guest.” The flick was surprisingly gentle, and he barely even felt it. Natasha had barely even touched him.

She wasn't so courteous to Hawkeye. She threw an orange full speed at him, and it bunked him in the face. He not-so-gracefully fell off of the fridge. “Ow! What was that for?” he yelped.

She dragged a chair out from the table and pushed Clint into it. By the time she was done, all of the Avengers were seated. Clint still avoided Peter’s eyes as he drank straight out the coffee pot.  
M  
Peter had just finished a plate of pancakes when a cheese omelet was passed to him. He finished it in a matter of seconds. After that, toaster strudels and jelly sausage biscuits were served up. He was taking a bite out of his biscuit when he realized everyone else was done eating.

Natasha and Steve were still eating, though. Steve was eating sausage balls, and Natasha ate a chocolate chip muffin.

He finished his biscuit quickly, but Sam was already shoving another plate into his hands. “Okay, okay, what's up with all this food?” He said, hiding a smile.

“You're so small,” Sam observed, jabbing a finger into his side.

“I have a high metabolism!” he defended weakly. He took a sip out of his mug.

“You don't eat enough, kid,” Tony said. “You're a walking skeleton.”

He frowned, picking at the sausage biscuits thrown at him. He couldn't protest that.

He was so sure if he kept on eating, he would puke. He finally set his fork down on the plate when he was done.

Sam, fidgeting, set his coffee down warily. “So, we never officially met.” He gestured towards Peter’s exposed face.

“Oh,” he said simply, ducking down.

He stood up from the table. “I'm, uh, I’m Peter-Man,” he greeted. A rosy pink blush dusted his cheeks. “I mean, no, I’m-- My name is Peter Parker. I’ve lived with my Aunt May until recent events. I used to attend Midtown High,” he prattled on. “I am fifteen years old.”

The room was silent for a few moments, until the loud shatter of a plate broke through. Steve’s hand was dripping with blood from the shards of glass from his cup. His face was bland: his hand, twitching.

“Middle school,” Clint rasped out, bringing his head down to the table roughly. “At least it wasn't middle school.”

“That's not much better! Fifteen? That's, what, freshmen year? Just out of middle school?” Sam exclaimed. “Oh, God. You're… C’mon. You poor, poor thing, come give me a hug.”

He was wrapped his arms around Peter before he could escape. He patted him back. “I don't need your pity,” he mumbled.

“Take the pity,” Tony offered. “You're going to need it when Capsicle finally explodes.” He experimentally poked him. “Give him a bit. You broke him.”

Peter flushed.

Clint cleared his voice in a rasping manner. “What about your, uh, mom?” He asked, avoiding his eyes.

“I don't remember my mom and dad too well. They passed in an airplane crash when I was young. I lived with my aunt and my uncle until recently.”

Hawkeye’s eyes flickered with something Peter didn't recognize.

“And now?” Sam prompted.

He laughed awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. “No where at the moment,” he replied.

“Actually,” Tony said, standing up. “About that. I have something I wanna show you.”

Everyone started to stand up from the table, the super soldier Steve excluded. His hand still bled and shook, and his face didn't change.

A hand rested on his shoulder. “Leave him be. He’ll come around eventually,” Sam said, and he nodded. He let himself be dragged into the elevator.

Tony was beaming. They went a flight up and the elevator opened to a long hallway with a room at the very end.

“Welcome to the Avenger’s floor!” Tony beamed, stepping out. “Most of the Avengers have their own home outside of the tower, but everyone has a room here.”

Peter had a good idea where this was going. He was gonna be shoved into some guest room, and of course he'd have to refuse.

Or, would he? Where would he go?

The events from yesterday came crashing down on him. His identity reveal, Harry, the fight all came attacking him from all sides out of nowhere.

Fear gripped ahold of his neck, and his shoulders shook. His hands took ahold of his sides, his face paled, his eyes widened, and he glued himself to the spot.

Harry.

The faces haunted his mind. The fact that he could never return home to Aunt May and Uncle Ben cooking, playing, laughing haunted him. He missed it. He missed the days when everything was okay.

“Hey, Peter,” a voice said, and the use of his real name was so grounding it pulled him out of his dark thoughts. “It's okay. You're here in the Avengers tower.” His eyes fluttered open.

A door was opened by Tony. There was always a comforting hand on him, pushing him, guiding him, holding him. He was ushered into the room ahead of him.

The walls were painted blue and red, so brightly that it made Peter squint. There was a desk built in, a gigantic bed, a dresser, and posters of the Avengers all around the room.

Above the bed on the far wall was painted a spider, the same spider Peter wore on his suit. The rounded spider on his back was painted on the opposite wall.

“I have a deal for you,” Tony said abruptly, and Peter spun on his heels.

The Avengers stood before him, the more “human” side to the heroes he has worshipped ever since he was young. They stood, Captain America excluded, heroically in their fuzzy pajama pants.

Peter’s heart was stuck on his every word.

“I'm not taking no for an answer,” he said. “So this is your room now!”

“No!” he said. “I can't! This is too much to ask of you.”

“What did I just say?” Tony hummed, ignoring Peter.

Natasha smirked. Bruce replied meekly, “You're not taking no for an answer.”

Before Peter could protest, heavy footsteps caused his mouth to shut. “Neither am I,” someone fumed, making his dramatic entrance. Steve, blank face replaced with flaming eyes, stood in the doorway. “You're going to live here, train with us, eat with us, be supervised by us. Is that understood?”

Peter gulped. “W-What if I say no?” He stammered, trying his best to sound intimidating. His attempts fell in front of his hero.

“Do you want the law coming after you, son?” Steve asked. “A freshman in highschool, huh? You have three years left; how do you plan to finish that if you're a missing man? How do you expect to exist in this world if you refuse to be a person?”

He paused, but didn't let anyone else speak. He continued, “That's not going to fly with me. If you try to escape, I'll just hunt you down.”

Peter stepped back. Even Tony looked concerned. “Whoa, Cap, chill. That's a bit creepy.”

“I mean every word,” Steve said.

“B-But that's kidnapping! You're justice, truth, the American Way! You won't break the law,” Peter sputtered.

“It's not anymore illegal than your reckless, vigilante habits,” Steve retorted. “You're staying here, under our supervision. No buts.”

Peter was stunned, to say the least.

“I just can't accept this,” he said, despite Steve’s threats. “You've all already done so much for me. What do you get out of this?”

A hand came down and ruffled his hair. “That's a question for another day,” Sam said fondly. He stuck his tongue out. “For now, what do you say?”

Peter took one good, long work at the people in front of him. They were offering to him a home, a chance to rebuild his life.

They were offering him a family.

He’d be an idiot to say no.

With that said, he did have a few moments where the clingy housemates got on his nerves. He couldn't go anywhere for the rest of the day without one of them glued to his side.

Except for Hawkeye.

The man seemed to be avoiding him like the plague. Peter made poor attempts at dragging him into the conversation, but they always failed. At the dinner table he gazed in his direction, longing,

Steve was cleaning the dishes. Tony and Bruce were down in the lab. Sam had left abruptly for his civilian job. Peter was left at the table with Hawkeye and Natasha.

Peter was going to start a conversation until Natasha smirked and stood from the table. She walked away, leaving Hawkeye to glare in defeat.

“Did I… do something wrong?” Peter asked, kicking his feet. “I'm really sorry, if I did.”

Hawkeye’s face fell. “Kid, you didn't--” he started, but he got caught on his own words. “You're fine. This is all my fault.”

Peter blinked. “You don't remember anything, do you?” Peter tilted his head to the side. “You were so young, after all.”

“Huh?” He asked, confused.

Hawkeye smiled kindly. “No worries, kid,” he said, teary eyed. “I'll explain later. Maybe. I have somewhere to be.”

And that's all he said before turning on his heels and leaving Peter alone.

***

“What is it now, Barton?” Nick Fury had his back to the room. He was facing New York through the window of his helicarrier. A man dropped to the ground behind him. He didn't turn around.

“Did you know?” He asked, voice rough.

Nick scoffed, spinning. “You'll have to be more specific, agent.”

“About Mary,” he spat. “About Richard.”

Nick hummed. “What about them?”

“Their son is alive. Did you know?”

Nick dropped his shoulders. “I've been keeping an eye on him. Kid’s got some interesting hobbies.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. Nick continued, “He doesn't know. I intend to keep it that way. For his mother’s sake.”

“Yeah,” Clint huffed.

A projector pulled up a live video. Clint would've been offended if it wasn't for the sight.

Peter was stuck in an abstract yoga move in an attempt to copy Nat, who was bent into an impossible move as if it was a breeze. Peter was a crumbled mess on the floor.

Nick wasn't smiling. For sure. “I think he’ll do just fine.”

“Yeah,” he said, and Clint smiled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't say thank you enough to all of you... Your comments encourage me sooooo much!


	9. The Man Who Sold the World

 

  
A lot of aspects of Peter’s life were changing. For one thing, the team was notified of every bruise, scratch, or cut he took (thanks JARVIS). He had a curfew now, much to his dismay. Food was constantly being shoved towards him. He spent a lot more time stretching and exercising, which honestly improved his fight times.

A lot of things were changing for Peter, whether they're good or bad. He's still not sure where to put this one.

There was a lot of arguments at first. Tony wanted to tutor him all by himself, which basically meant ordering him around as a lackey. No one seemed too fond of that idea. Peter would've preferred to return back to school. If he did that, however, there's no doubt questions would rise.

He would've preferred the Avengers becoming his teachers over this. But when Steve Rogers wants something, he gets it.

And that's how he ended up here. He's standing in front of his school with Clint, who still is avoiding him a bit.

“You don't have to escort me in,” Peter said when they reached the doorsteps. Other students were flooding in.

“I need to talk with the principal,” he explained. “You are classified as a missing child right now. Some questions might rise, but we've made some… arrangements.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, but he let himself be ushered into the hallway. “Now shoo. Go to class; I'll take care of things.”

Peter dug his feet into the ground. A voice in the background screamed out, “Puny Parker!” and snapped him out of his daze. He nodded eagerly, pushed Clint on his way, and started to make his escape.

“Parker,” the voice greeted in a tone that was anything but sweet. “I missed you. We all did.” He turned to his group of friends. “Right?”

Peter shrunk back. “Flash, please,” he begged, stepping away.

“Did you run away? Were you that afraid?” He was hitting low blows, but Peter was stronger than that. “Too chicken? Your Aunt dies, so you just run away? What a coward.”

He didn't say anything. Anything he said would be used against him. He knew from experience.

Hands grabbed ahold of his collar, and Peter froze in memory of metal clamps around his neck.

Octavious. He has me again.

He shook his head. No. It's Flash. Just Flash.

The tremors wouldn't stop. A fist was pulled up to his face, and Peter winced. He couldn't fight back.

The punch came hard, and the punches that followed did too. His face was left bloody and bruised; he didn't have to look at it to know that.

“Cut it out!” Someone yelled, but Peter’s eyes were shut. “Flash, get out of here. Now.”

“Babe--”

“Do not call me ‘babe’ ever again. Do you understand?” The hold on his neck released, and Peter’s eyes shot open to see a drawn back Flash and a blonde girl with binders hugged to her chest.

“You really went too far,” an entourage of Flash’s said. “We should go.” They fled from the girl’s wrath.

The shock stayed on his face. A hand was held out to him. “I'm Gwen,” she greeted. “I just transferred in recently, too.”

Peter tilted his head in confusion before shaking his head. “Oh, I'm not new. I've just been gone for a while…” he trailed off.

A pink blush rose in her cheeks. “Oh,” she said, casting her eyes down.

“I'm Peter,” he greeted, mustering up a smile and holding out his hand. Talking to someone his age wasn't something he's done in a long while. It didn't feel natural.

“Well, Peter, I’m going to escort you to the nurse’s office! Wherever that might be…” she grabbed ahold of his hand and tugged him along. He's been dragged around a lot lately, and he's growing accustomed to it.

It took her a while to find it, but when she did she was a perfect nurse. His face was cleaned up in a matter of moments. Peter raised an eyebrow. “My father’s a policeman,” she explained. “I stitch him up sometimes.”

Peter squinted his eyes. “Your last name isn't Stacy by any chance?”

Her mouth gaped. “Yup! That's him!”

Peter visibly paled. Captain Stacy is one that has more often than not fired aimlessly at him. One time, on a really, really bad day, Peter had been shot down and the policemen were no help. In his wounded state, Stacy had tried to steal him, but he got away. Barely.

It's a small world, he thinks to himself.

A bell rang suddenly, and Peter stood up. “And I made you late,” he sighed.

“I guess you have to make it up to me, then,” she said, grinning slyly. “My perfect attendance: ruined!” She cast an arm across her face. “What will my father say? Why, he’ll throw me out on the streets!”

Peter shook his hands. “No, no! I'll get a note!”

She raised her arm high enough to expose her grin. “I fear that still won't be enough.” She tapped her chin in thought. “I guess you can treat me to an ice cream date.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “What? No, I can't,” he said, and her face dropped in fake distraught.

“But, Peter,” she whined dramatically. “You did make me late, after all.” She pouted. “C’mon, lighten up. You look like you need it, too.” She punched him playfully.

“Oh, a pity date? Thanks, I'll pass.” She punched him harder this time.

“No, silly. You look like you need a friend,” she smiled, pulling him out of the chair. “I do too.” She turned away and ran off to the nurse to ask for a note.

There was something sparking in his chest that he hadn't felt in a long while. There was warmth, but it faded and took root into something red hot and painful. Guilt.

He can't get close to her. He knows he can't; he knows he shouldn't. He's in dangerous waters now, and it's too late.

The anxiety must've shaken into his face because she was back in an instant, notes in hand, and pulled him out of his thoughts. “Come on,” she said, and the smile on her face made Peter forget.

As things turn out, Gwen had his first period. Peter took Journalism, Honors Biology, Advanced Honors Algebra 2, and Photography. He had done most of his core classes semester: his History, Algebra 1, and Advanced Honors English credit for the year. Gwen had all of the same classes, photography and journalism excluded.

The moment he stepped foot into the classroom, the conversations went silent. Gwen stepped in first in all her glory, then stepped the bandaged Peter. His Algebra teacher dropped the expo marker.

“Parker!” she exclaimed, shocked. “But you're, what? When did you get back?” She shook her head. “Can you, uh, go see the principal real quick.”

“Um, Miss Stone, we got a new principal today, remember?” A girl in the front row piped up.

The teacher nodded. “Right, right. Ask for the assistant principal. Our new principal is still being shown around. Uh, Gwen, you can escort him.”

Gwen handed her the notes to excuse their tardy, and then they headed towards the office.

“Double scoop,” Gwen said suddenly, stroking her non-existent beard. “I'm missing quality math time. I think double scoop ice cream is in order.”

Peter grinned. “Well, Gwen, only the finest for--” Peter was pressing against the door to the office where Clint was toppled over on some other man. “Clint?”

“Oh, hi, Peter,” Clint greeted, still pinning the man to the ground.

“What is going on?” Gwen inquired, stepping forward. “Mr. Coulson, explain yourself.”

The man, Coulson, pushed Clint off of him. “An Acquaintance of mine was a little too excited to see me,” he explained, jabbing a finger towards Clint.

Clint jumped on his shoulder’s, sending Coulson into a rage. “Barton, cut it out!” he yelped, but he didn't throw him off of his shoulder.

“You two know each other?” Peter asked, gesturing towards the two.

“Close buds!” Clint gestured for Peter to come close so he could whisper in his ear, “I didn't know SHIELD was going to send him.”

Coulson rolled his eyes. “I apologize for the inconvenience. Did you two need anything?”

“The teacher sent me,” Peter said.

Clint whispered something into Coulson’s ear, and he nodded. “Peter, come with me. Miss, you may return to class.”

Although hesitant, she did nod and leave. “I'll take notes for you, Peter,” she called before stepping out the door.

The door shut and locked behind the three of them. Coulson sat down in his principal’s chair. “So this is the Peter I've heard so much about,” he mused. Peter took a hesitant seat next to Clint across from him.

He cast Hawkeye a worried look. What did you tell him?

“You look so much like your mother,” Coulson mused. “I'm delighted that you--”

“Phil,” Clint warned.

“You knew my mother?” Peter asked, eyes wide.

Phil blinked. “I thought that's why…?” He trailed off. Clint made a signal for him to stop talking.

“I'm sick of everyone avoiding this around me. Why won't anyone tell me about her?” He asked, feeling betrayed. “I know you've been avoiding my eyes. Did you know her too?”

Clint wouldn't look at him.

Phil sighed, “But what happened to your face? You're not causing trouble on your first day.”

Clint shifted in his seat. “Yeah, Peter, what happened?”

Peter stiffened, looking away. He looked through the window in the door where Gwen had been waiting patiently (and had not gone back to class like she was told). He pleaded with his eyes, and she peaked her head back in. When Clint was distracted and looking at her, Peter gestured towards his bruised face.

“Oh, do not worry! It's makeup,” she explained. “I take a theatre class, and Peter was nice enough to volunteer as my victim.”

Clint nodded. “So we all good? On the same page?”

Peter whistled, “We would be if you guys told me what's going on with my parents.” He was ignored.

“He has a load of makeup work.” He drops a thick binder out on the desk. “And I have some papers to fill out. Like his legal guardian, his place of residency, and so forth.”

Clint nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Set us up a meeting for that. For now, he needs to get to class. Shoo, kids, go do teenage things.”

Coulson called before the door shut, “And stay out of trouble!”

The room far behind them, in safety, Peter sighed, “You're the best, Gwen.”

“Don't thank me yet,” she said, rummaging through her bag. “You'll need some concealer to hide the bruises.”

They walked through the hallway, and Peter debated speaking the words building up in his throat. “So, why?” He coughed, clearing his voice.

She didn't stop walking, but she slowed down to look at him and say, “Why, what?”

“You stayed. And, and you defended me,” he said, nervous. “I guess I owe you a waffle cone.”

She smiled, “You looked so afraid. I don't know what he said to you, but your face… I figured I’d want a friend with me.”

That earned a smile from him. “Thank you, Gwen,” he said to a promise of an ice cream date, a study buddy, a makeup artist, and, most importantly, a friend.

***

When he was picked up from school, his bruises and scratches were completely covered from Gwen’s magical ability with makeup. She lent him some concealer as well, not that Peter can put it on himself.

  
Gwen had been kind enough to copy pages of her neatly, color coded notes and manage to create an entire binder full of everything he missed. He was flipping through the sheets when he saw a pink note peeking out. There was a phone number listed and a signature that read GWEN STACY.

He had planned to walk home, maybe even swing home in the Spider-Man suit after his patrol. However, the minute he stepped outside, he was swarmed with the other Avengers. Tony Stark had sunglasses on, but it did little to hide his face. Everyone in the courtyard was staring as the Avengers pulled up in a limo.

“You can't just pull up at my school like this! If people see me with you, they'll start asking questions.”

“Also, Pete, I so can. I don't think you know this, but I'm Tony Stark. You know what that means?” He paused. “I do what I want.”

On that note, the door swung open and Peter ducked his head down and slipped inside. He squeezed in between Sam and Natasha.

Natasha had been staring at him the entire him. After a while, her cold stare lightened up and she grinned. “What?” Peter asked, curious.

“You met someone,” she said.

Peter blushed. “No! No, well,” he sputtered. “It's a high school. There's a lot of people.”

“You like them,” she noted, grinning.

Steve turned around from the front seat. His face had lightened up, a delight to Peter. “You made a friend?”

Peter turned away to face the window. “More of less. Anyhow, I'm being forced to take her out to get ice cream apparently. But, uh, how'd you know?”

“Secret spy, remember?” Natasha said.

Clint’s mouth twisted into a ‘O’. “Was that the makeup artist?” He nudged Peter. “Nat and I were too, actually, when we were in the circus.”

Peter was in shock. “Really? You were in the circus?” His eyes popped out of his head.

“Mhm, long time ago. How do you think we’re so good at acrobatics?” He hummed.

“Wow,” Peter said.

It was all still very new to him. It's moments like these that Peter realizes I’m sitting with the Avengers right now. And, yeah, it's cool because he's sitting at the dinner table with heroes he's worshipped ever since he was little.

Peter Parker, beaten up bloody under ten pounds of makeup, lifted his mask off, not because they were his heroes but a potential family, people who were desperately trying to help him.

And, now, Peter’s hiding under a mask of concealer, and he's getting a feeling of deja vu.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> None of my chapter titles Nhsc's remained consistent rip
> 
> Thank for support 
> 
> There is cat on me 
> 
> Preventing me from responsibilities


	10. Chapter 9 - Let's Go Home

  
The bruises didn't stop coming.

Peter found himself sitting on the floor in front of Gwen more times that he would've liked to admit. Not to say he didn't enjoy the girl’s company but rather he did not enjoy being beaten bloody.

Whether he wore the suit or not, he was going to get attacked. The only difference was when he could fight back.

“Where are we going?” Peter groaned, dropping his pencil.

“Out,” Natasha replied. “You need a break.”

“But I have homework,” he whined at the mountain of makeup work.

She put a hand on her hip. “It can wait, little Spider,” she said, and he sighed but complied.

She grinned and waited for him outside the elevator. “Don't forget a jacket!” Steve called from the kitchen.

“I won't!” He called back, chasing to catch up with Natasha. “Bye! We’ll be back soon!”

There was a rumble of footsteps. “Where are we going?” Clint asked, sliding in. “I'm in.”

Peter was shoving his foot into a pair of red converse when a hand swatted him at the top of his head. “Forgetting something?” Sam teased, holding up his jacket.

Peter smiled sheepishly. “Thanks, Sam.” He slipped into the oversized coat that was actually Tony’s.

For May time, the weather was surprisingly cold. Peter cherished the fluffy coat.

Natasha had taken them to a park a couple blocks from the Avengers Tower. Peter’s back straightened up, and he felt more relaxed than he did earlier.

“I still have homework,” he grumbled.

“It can wait,” she said. “This can not.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “And what exactly is this?”

Clint hushed him. “Don't question her,” he hissed.

He fell back on a swinging bench. Nat and Clint sat on his sides.

The park was empty aside from the occasional jogger. The moon was high in the sky, and night casted its blanket over New York.

“Look.” Natasha nudged him. Peter was snapped out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“Shh,” she hushed. “Look.”

“I can't see anything! It's night,” he whispered, somewhat irritated.

“Look,” Clint said, moving his head to look left.

He couldn't see much in the dark. If he squinted, he could make out the outlines of trees and animals. Not much else.

But, then, he saw a light. And then another.

All blinking, twinkling in the night.

Fireflies.

The stress of his homework escaped him.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling under the sky.

Natasha hummed. Clint rocked the swing gently, keeping it moving slowly. Peter relaxed deeper into the seat.

All his troubles seemed to be escaping him, flying away in the form of little fireflies.

He took the liberty to smile.

Too soon, he realized, as the cloudy sky brought down rain.

Peter didn't mind rain. He minded storms, for sure, but he didn't mind the rain. It was another relaxing catalyst to him.

Then there was itching. Subtle, at first. He numbly picked his face. He winced at the pool of liquid his finger drew. His eyes shot open to find concealer dripping from his hand.

Uh oh.

He covered his head with his hands, but it did little to keep the rain from washing away the makeup.

“Peter?” Clint asked, “What's that?”

Peter stiffened. “What’re you talking about?” He blanked.

Natasha grabbed ahold of his face and pulled it towards her. “Thought so,” she mused, letting go.

Peter’s shoulders drooped. “How'd you know?” He whined, not even bothering to hide it as he was caught red handed.

“Secret spy, remember?” She said, grinning. Her smile dropped, and a more serious look cast over her face. “Who did this?”

“I'm Parker-Man, remember?” He joked as a coping mechanism. Clint and Natasha didn't think it was funny.

“Trouble at school?” Clint asked, investigating his bruises.

Peter shrugged, “This is just a one time thing… There's no trouble.”

Natasha scoffed, “No, it is not.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Hold on a sec,” he said, “Did you have this planned all along?”

She shrugged, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

His eyebrows furrowed together. Natasha stood up from the swing. “Let’s head back,” Clint offered, and thus started the longest, most awkward walk Peter had ever endured.

There was hand on his back to keep him walking forward, a gentle gesture of where he was being taken to. It was small against his back but still a reminder he was in trouble.

“Back already?” Steve called from the kitchen where he was still preparing tomorrow’s dinner in a crockpot. Sam was washing dishes in the sink.

“Peter had something he wanted to show you guys,” Clint explained, pushing him forward.

“Show us what?” Tony asked in between bites of an apple. He took a large bite out of it, settled upon Peter’s face, then spit it out.

Bruce looked exhausted. “Tony, I just swept that,” he groaned.

“What is wrong with your face?” Tony exclaimed, wiping bits of apple off his chin. “Ew.”

Peter trudged his feet. “Come here, son,” Steve demanded, and Peter’s chest tightened. He didn't move from his spot. “Now.”

Peter stepped forward hesitantly. He didn't take his eyes off the ground. “Look at me,” Steve said, and painfully, he tore his eyes up. Steve didn't look angry, which was a complete surprise.

He looked… hurt, betrayed. A hesitant hand traced the outline of the bruise.

He had a large array of bruises covering the left side of his face. Two, long cuts dug across his nose. His right eye was puffed up and red.

“What happened?” Steve asked, breathless.

Peter shrugged. “Don't worry about it,” he pleaded. “It's not as bad as it looks.”

Tony crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me one thing: who did this?” Bruce asked.

“Just a kid from school,” he said, and Bruce shifted on his feet. “But, please, don't worry!”

Steve pinched his nose. “Why shouldn’t I worry?” He signed. “Why didn't you tell us?”

Peter blinked. “What?”

“Why didn't you tell us?” Steve asked again.

Realization dawned over Peter. Natasha picked up on it. “I don't know,” he lied.

Natasha tsked at him, “We won't be mad. I promise.”

Peter dragged fingers through his messy brown hair. “I didn't want you to think I was weak,” he mumbled. “I'm not, I mean, I had to.”

Peter’s choice of wording, despite being well thought out, did not sit well with anyone in the room. Peter realized his mistake far too late.

“You had to?” Clint echoed. “What made you think you had to take this?”

Peter shrugged again. “I hafta,” he mumbled. “I'm Peter Parker when I'm at school. Puny Parker can't suddenly start throwing punches.” He didn't wait for someone to interrupt him. “Besides, Flash’s just a highschool bully; he's not a super-villain!”

“Flash?” Steve asked, and Peter paled.

“Please,” he begged. “Please don't be mad at him. Please. He's just a kid--”

“You're just a kid,” Tony retorted. “Fifteen, Peter--”

He slapped the side of his head. “Almost sixteen! How many times do I have to tell you people?”

Steve’s face was red with anger. “Go to your room,” he said. Peter’s mouth shot open to reply, but Steve didn't let him. “Go. I won't tell you again.”

He jumped on the ceiling of the elevator and gave a thumbs down. Clint cupped his mouth and yelled, “You realize it's a thumbs up now!” Peter shook his head in embarrassment, quickly flipping his thumbs up into a thumbs down, and let the elevator close. The last thing he heard was some shouting between the Avengers and Natasha, the only calm one, saying, “Phil, I need an immediate disciplinary action for a Flash in the ninth grade.”

Peter slammed his door behind him. His first was clenched, and his teeth were gritted together. He jumped on his bed and thrashed his pillow around. He pushed his face into his pillow and screamed.

After a few minutes, he pulled away from his pillow in instant regret. What would Aunt May think of him if he saw him now?

His fingers were dug into his bedsheets, the ones Tony had bought specifically for him. He had slammed the door, the one Tony had installed for him. Tony had made this room specifically for his needs, and this is how he repaid him: yelling in a childish fit.

He hugged his knees to his chest. “What am I doing, Aunt May?” he asked aloud.

He fell back on his pillow and let his eyes close.

***

“One, two, three, four,” a voice counted, and Peter sprinted through the messy hall of his school building. “Five, six, seven, eight.”

Peter scrambled under a desk, holding his breath. The voice stopped counting.

There was no movement, no crashes, no screams, no sound. Peter’s chest heaved slowly.

“This is a game of tag, Peter,” the voice said, “You can't stop running.”

Peter ducked his head down, not making a sound.

An old, familiar wrinkled face popped up. Ben.

“Nine, gen,” he finished. “I found you, Peter.”

He hit his head on the desk in an attempt to escape. He scrambled out of the classroom without casting a glance behind him to see his Uncle’s face attached to a long snake.

“You can't run from me,” he said, a voice so sweet turned into a weapon. “You did this to me.”

Peter cupped his ears.

Mary Jane dug her fingernails into the sides of his head. “You killed me,” she whispered. “You killed all of us.”

“It's your fault.”

Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

Peter curled up into a ball and he screamed.

***

Sweat beads trailed down from his forehead, not to be mistaken with the warm, salty tears that were forming in his eyes. He was trembling.

His shaky hands reached out to grab the Iron Man blanket, and he wrapped himself around it despite the heat building up. “Master Parker, should I call for Sir?” JARVIS asked, and Peter shook his head.

“No, no,” he said. “I got it, J.” His chest rose and fall quickly.

“Master Parker, I insist--”

“I’m okay, JARVIS,” he spat with more venom than he intended.

His clock read 3:42, a dread to Peter. He pushed his face into his hands.

He slipped his feet into his pair of red converse that rested by his bed. His hands pushed down the window.

“Master Parker, I--” Peter was already out the window. “I do not advise that course of action.”

The music blasting through Tony’s lab paused, bringing Tony out of his work. “What's up?”

“Master Parker has escaped the building,” he replied.

Tony scoffed, “He just needs to blow off some steam.”

“Master Parker is in a distraught state. To prevent further injury, I suggest a retrieval is in order.” Tony didn't respond. “He has a bag.”

Tony set down his pen. He leaned back in his chair and scratched his chin. “Assemble the Avengers,” he said. “We have a spider to catch.”

***

Clint arrived to the scene with a pot of coffee and clothed in his pajamas. Everyone else was suited up, with the exception of Bruce and Hawkeye.

“What?” He shrugged. “Why are we suiting up? He's a kid. Can't be too hard to catch.” He tore open a package of skittles and popped some into his mouth.

“You of all people should know better than to underestimate a child,” Natasha said.

“Whatever,” he grumbled. “I should be asleep right now. But, no, emo teenager disappears in the middle of the night!”

Steve reasoned, “We might've been too harsh on him. If we scared him off, he might’ve left for good.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “If he won't come back, he’s going to return right back to the path he was on before we intervened,” he explained.

Tony’s phone started to beep. “Hey!” He announced suddenly. “Found him.”

Steve looked appalled. “How? Stark, is that a tracking device?”

He blinked. “Uh, yeah.”

“Tony, why would you do that?”

“Why… Why wouldn't I do that?” Tony cheekily spits back. “Where's my thank you? It worked, didn't it?”

“Your lack of morals disturbs me,” Steve grumbled. “Where is he?”

Tony fidgeted with the device. “He is… That way!”

“To the quinjet,” Tony continued, but nobody moved.

“I'll call a cab,” Natasha offered. She added a “Tony, you’re too extra” before she left.

The cab ride was a bit too awkward for anyone’s comfort. The cab driver was sucked into the atmosphere of “it’s an ungodly hour of the night and we’re the avengers tracking down a sad orphan boy.” He didn't mind too much, not with the glamourous tip Tony left him.

The Avengers stepped out on a street of a busy, New York shopping center. Hawkeye was scanning the crowd. “He's over there,” he announced, and the Avengers started their hunt.

Steve was taking off towards him, but Natasha grabbed his arm. “He's going somewhere,” she noted, curiosity tracing the edges of her voice.

“Well, duh,” Tony said. “Away from us.”

“He's not running away,” Natasha said, scowling.

One does not simply disobey Nat, so they all trailed Peter for the rest of the night. His cherry converse were darkened from the heavy rain pouring down on the street.

Natasha fished some binoculars out of her bag. “Where is he going?” Sam asked, and she passed him a pair.

Peter made his way through a small gathering of trees. Clint made his way up through the branches and waded through. Peter slipped out with ease, going through the trail with such familiarity it took him a few moments. Natasha’s tracking skills didn't leave her far behind.

They stationed themselves in some bushes as Peter trudged up the hill. He slid the backpack off and dropped it to the ground. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and rummaged through his bag. His face twisted into a smile and he pulled out a bouquet of flowers.

He kneeled down to the ground, and Hawkeye pointed towards a distant building. “It's a cemetery,” he said aloud, even though everyone was looking at it.

Peter pulled an umbrella out of his bag and popped it. He hit himself in the face in the process, striking a giggle from the group.

“I'm sorry I haven't visited in a while,” Peter said quietly, and if it wasn't for their super enhancements no one would hear him. “I brought some new flowers for you, though. Mr. Stark has this garden on one of his floors, and I thought it was time for a change.”

He slid the flowers into two holders. “I went back to school, thanks for everyone back at the tower,” he paused. “I haven't really told you about them.” He huffed a puff of air. “The Avengers have been really nice to me.” He laughed. “Yeah, you heard me, Uncle Ben. The Avengers. They're awesome.”

“Mr. Stark and Doctor Banner let me work with them sometimes. They even let me join their “science bro” team. Natasha’s cool and insanely skilled at yoga. Hawkeye’s a huge troll; he pulls so many pranks you wouldn't believe. Sam’s a good listener. Steve’s nice. He reminds me of you,” he continued. “You would've liked Natasha, Aunt May. I know for sure you two would've gotten along.”

He played with the flower, taking the delicate stem in between his fingers. “I miss you,” he confessed. “I do. Every day, I do. But it, it hurts less. Than it did.”

“I found a family,” he cried, and the broken sob was audible in his voice. “You don't have to worry about me. I like it there. With them—” His voice cut off into soft cries. He rubbed at his eyes. “I was so scared when I lost you. I still am. I’m really, really scared.” A hysterical laugh escaped his lips. “I’m terrified. I feel really lost without you.”

He let go of the flower. “Even so, it hurts a bit less when I'm with them.” He crumbled. “I'm so sorry.” He didn't say anything for a few moments, and the Avengers stared in shock.

They all shared the same horrified look. No one wanted to invade his privacy, but everyone wanted to comfort him and tell him it’d be okay.

Peter gripped ahold of the grass. “Please don't worry for me,” he sobbed. “I found a home, but I...I think I may lose it again. I was so rude to them, Aunt May. I know you'd be ashamed for how I acted. They're mad at me. I don't blame them.” He hiccuped loudly. “I'll be better, though. I promise. I can't… I can’t lose my family again.”

Natasha was the first to break away from the bushes. She climbed over and hiked up the hill. She broke off into a sprint and tackled Peter into a hug. The others didn't wait for an invitation. One by one, they all got on their feet and joined the group.

  
“We’re not mad,” Steve consoled. “We were never mad. Natasha told you that, didn't she?”

Natasha had him pulled into a tight embrace. Hawkeye sprawled out on top of them. The others pressed close.

“What’re you guys doing here?” Peter yelped around the tight arms.

“You're not losing us, Peter,” Bruce assured. “I want you to be sure of that.”

“Well, okay, but how did you get here?”

Tony started off into a long “well, you see,” but Natasha immediately replied, “We tracked you.”

Peter’s face contorted to even more confusion. “What?”

“I thought you were gonna leave. For good,” Steve confessed. “So we followed you.”

Peter mumbled a silent “Oh.” He rubbed the grass between the graves subconsciously. “Did you… did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah, we did,” Sam confessed. “We’re not mad at you about being weak or whatever. We were just upset you got hurt.”

Natasha traced her fingers across his bruised up face. “We have it under control now that you gave us a name,” she explained. “We’ll get it figured out, Peter.”

He picked at the grass, ripping it out. “So, uh, let’s just ignore whatever you heard, m’kay?”

Steve grabbed ahold of his head and pulled him into a hug with his full strength. A breath was knocked out of Peter. “Not a chance,” Steve said, grinning.

“Let’s go home,” Tony promised.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Parker,” Bruce introduced, bowing down to the graves. “We’ll take good care of him.”

A hand came down and ruffled his hair. “Yeah. We will.”

  
***

“That kid is really something.”

“You didn't know that already?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate to say it but this story is nearing its end :(( 
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely comments! They mean the world to me!!


	11. Let the Sleeping Dog Sleep

 

Peter’s pen was working furiously to copy down all the notes off of Gwen’s paper. He leaned over so far he fell, but Gwen caught him by his face and pushed him back. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “Put whatever that is away.”

Peter stuffed the paper into his binder. “Put what away?” He whistled. She raise an eyebrow, and Peter meekly pushed the paper in deeper. Big red letters writing “CLASSIFIED” still peeked out.

Gwen closed her notebook, and Peter whined. The bell rang, and the teacher clapped his hands together suddenly. “Class dismissed. Get out of here, and don’t forget to study for your upcoming test,” he announced. “Parker, stay behind.”

Peter grumbled and let his head hit the desk. Gwen poked him in the head. “Meet me in the library?”

“I have a feeling this’ll take a while,” he sighed, shoving his stuff into his backpack. He stood up and slid it over his shoulder. “Go on without me.”

She hesitated. “I’ll be in the library tomorrow morning if you want to swing by,” she said. “Bye, Peter, see you.” She walked out the door, leaving Peter alone in the classroom with his teacher.

He approached his podium. “You wanted to see me?” Peter asked, biting his lip.

His teacher pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Right, your conference,” he said. “Is your guardian here yet?”

Peter shifted on his feet. “Well, sir, you see…”

“Parker, this appointment is very important to your future. Where is your guardian?”

“Do I really need one? I’m qualified to skip four years of school. Doesn’t that say anything about my responsibility? I can do this myself, Sir,” he defended. He took a seat in front of his desk.

“I’ve been too lenient with you. You were absent for a long period of time, and I’ve pushed it aside due to the principal’s request. But if a guardian isn’t present for this meeting, you’ll have to answer the authorities and not graduate as a freshman.”

Peter fumbled with his thumbs. “I don't have a guardian,” he mumbled.

The teacher clicked his pen and set it down on the desk. “Then, I'm sorry, but this meeting is adjourned. Have a good evening, Parker. Don't forget you have an upcoming test.” The teacher stood up, and Peter tried to stop him.

“Please, sir, I really need to take the exam. If I don't--”

“I'm sorry, but I can't do anything about it,” he replied briskly and started to leave. His hand grasped around the doorknob and started to push, but the door was tugged open at the other side.

The teacher was pushed back a couple steps, bumping into Peter. His pencil case fell out and he scrambled to pick up his stuff.

“I'm sorry I'm late,” a voice said, and Peter’s hands stopped short of a yellow highlighter.

When he was little, there was that voice coming through his television, filling him with encouragement and inspiration. Iron Man was the best of the best to him. He copied everything they did in hopes to be just like his heroes.

Now, he's a hero just like them, but he's afraid he's lost a lot more than he's given. He's been forced into dark situations, and there was that voice again. When he was told “Let's go home.”

Peter Parker was saved again.

“Sorry, Peter, we meant to get here earlier,” Sam apologized, pushing past Tony into the classroom. Bruce peeked in behind him and waved. “Where's your teacher?”

“What are you doing here?” Peter squeaked. “How did you…?”

Tony pulled a flier out and waved it in front of the teacher’s face. “I snuck this out of one of your binders,” he grinned. “So what's this conference about, anyways?”

The teacher blinked rapidly before furiously shoving his glasses higher up on his face. His hands were shaking. “Uh, well, Mr. Parker is qualified to finish highschool much earlier than any of his classmates. If he takes the exam, his long period of absences will be excused without question,” the teacher explained. “But a guardian’s signature is needed.”

Natasha stepped forward and scanned through the paper in the teacher’s hands. She grabbed the pen, but the teacher stopped her. “It has to be a guardian.”

“We’re his dads,” Clint explained. He cupped a hand to his mouth for a stage whisper. “Except for Steve. He's the mom.”

Steve gave a light punch to Clint’s arm. “Not funny, Barton,” he scolded. “We are his guardians.”

The teacher gave a bubbly laugh. “Really? The Avengers? You all can't be his guardian.”

Natasha put pen to paper. “We are,” she argued with no room for discussion.

Peter’s jaw was touching the floor. The Avengers simply sat down around his desk and scanned over the paperwork. Down at the very bottom, next to ‘Parent Signagure’ was scribbled in obnoxious Cursive ‘The Avengers — Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, and Sam Wilson.’

Peter’s mouth worked to speak, but no words would fall out. He stood, speechless, as the Avengers saved him again.

“I'll get this to the principal,” the teacher, blank in the face, said. “Parker, your exam will be scheduled for tomorrow.”

***

  
Peter passed the exam without any trouble. He receives the news a few days later via a letter written by Coulson. The Avengers are all huddled over his shoulder.

“I'm graduating with the seniors this year,” he said simply, a huge grin on his face.

Tony held out a gift box to him. Peter’s mouth hung open. “A graduation present,” he explained.

Peter slowly tore at the ribbon. He gently cracked open the box to pull out endless bubblewrap. At the very bottom of the box lay a camera.

“We all got something for you,” Steve said, presenting another box. Peter accepted it, trying to get out a thank you, but it was already thrown into his hands. This one was a lot heavier.

He set it down on the countertop and searched through the bag. The first item to be pulled out was a photo frame, nothing fancy, but one that meant the world to Peter.

It used to hang up in his old home. The photo consisted of Aunt May, Peter, and Ben at a science fair. Peter held up a first place ribbon.

“Thank you,” he chanted. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” His eyes welled with tears.

Peter set the frame back in the box. A celebratory lunch was served, and a lot of food was passed towards Peter. As usual. He’d gotten used to it by now.

“So why'd you want to graduate so early?” Bruce asked curiously.

Tony scoffed, “Cause school is Hell, right?”

Peter laughed, “No, no. That's not it. Well, it is, but that's not why I wanted to finish early.” He popped a piece of watermelon in his mouth. “I want to go full-time Spider-Man.”

Bruce was chewing on a piece of melon when he swallowed it whole. Natasha was giving him the heimlich in a moment’s notice. The food spewed out his mouth, and he breathed heavily. “What?” He exclaimed.

The rest of the Avengers shared the same look. “Like, since I don't have school. I want to help more people.”

“Peter, no,” Steve said. “What about college?”

Peter frowned. “I can't go,” he mumbled. “It's expensive, and I have people I need to save.”

Natasha handed a glass of water to Bruce. “And here I thought you finally learned,” Sam groaned.

Peter stuttered. “I-I thought it’d be a good idea. I could be like you guys.”

Bruce shook his head. “We’re not out there 24/7. None of us can be,” he pleaded. “Peter, we want you to live some more as a child. I want you to experience the world as Peter Parker.”

Tony set down his coffee. “I have another gift for you,” he said.

“Not now, Tony. We’re having a discussion,” Steve said.

“No, now is a perfect time. Kid, I want you to come work with me as my intern,” Tony announced, grinning widely. “And don't pull that crap with me. You and I both know you could get into any college with a scholarship.”

Peter shrugged. “But there's people out there,” he protested. “What about them?”

Natasha set a hand on his shoulder. “There are police men, fire fighters, so many other heroes out there. Peter, you can still be Spider-Man, but you can't go out there full time. Remember how well that worked out for you last time?”

Peter hummed in thought. “I guess,” he mumbled. “I still have a week or two of school left. I'll think about it.”

Steve coughed. “I really hate to put so much on your plate, but I also have a proposal for you,” he started uncomfortably. “Aside from college classes and your internship, I’d like to continue your training.”

“Well, I didn't think you'd want me to stop training, anyways. It's been quite helpful,” Peter said, tilting his head to the side. “Thank you very much.”

“Let him finish,” Natasha ordered.

“I want you to join the Avengers.”

There was a movement, a drastic change in the conversation. Peter’s eyes were blown wide, his voice got lost in his throat, and he fell back in his chair.

Sam pulled his chair up. “You okay, kid?”

He laughed bubbly. “I think I hit my head,” he confessed.

“You just did,” Natasha noted.

“No, before now. I'm hearing things,” he chuckled. “Oh, I'm going crazy.” He snorted. “Wow. I'm actually going insane.”

“So you're saying you don't want to join the big league?” Tony teased.

Peter passed out.

When Peter awoke, he was alone in his room. The lights were all dimmed. He scratched the side of his head.

He pulled aside the curtains to see it was late evening. The moon had just started to rise.

He stepped quietly out of his room, slowly creaking his door shut. He jumped up on the ceiling and crawled through the hallway.

Although quiet, there were voices echoing through the hall. He peeked his head in to the living room.

“And you had nothing to do with this?”

Natasha and Clint were seated at the island with Steve on the other side. Clint looked offended, and Steve’s face was pale. “I hadn't heard a thing.”

Peter spotted the contents on the countertop.

Those big red letters stood out to him from far away.

He cursed at himself and then inched closer.

“So he hacked SHIELD to get these?” Steve mused, flipping through the files. “All by himself?”

Natasha held her hand out, and Steve passed it to her. She read through it quickly.

Silence fell over them as Clint peeked over her shoulder. “It's not true,” he mumbled quietly. “She didn't die in a plane crash. Whatever they've been feeding Peter, whatever this file has told him, it’s not true. I saw it happen. I saw what Red Skull did to her.”

He pushed his face into his hands. “Mary Parker was a legend. But when HYDRA got to Richard… she…” A full body shiver took over him. “Her last words, I remember, all she wanted was Peter to be safe.”

Natasha set down the files. She leaned back.

“Now you know, Peter,” she said, and Steve and Clint went pale.

Peter dropped down from the ceiling. He trudged his way up to the others. “You knew my parents?” His voice was small, quiet.

“I did,” Clint replied. “I worked with them. Actually, I remember when you were born. Pretty sure Wolverine was around then.”

Peter’s eyebrows raised. “Uh, I'm sorry, I don't think he does baby showers.”

Clint laughed, “No, not really. But, he did know Mary. Most of us did.”

“Somehow it doesn't feel any different,” he mumbled simply. “I can't remember them too well. Just a distant memory at this point. But, I think, I think Aunt May and Uncle Ben wanted the same for me. For, uh, me to be safe? And I'm Spider-Man, but I think I'm safe. You know. Here. With you guys.”

Natasha smiled. Steve ruffled his hair, and Peter swatted his hand away. “Stop doing that,” he whined.

***

Peter’s life became crowded right after that. Between balancing things with Gwen, attending his college classes, working as Tony’s intern and a photography for the Daily Bugle, and training to be a full time avenger, his life became very busy. Strangely, though, he was never bored.

He's sixteen now, and it's hard being so young in college. He's managing, somehow. Tony and Bruce help him, but mainly he's helping the two of them.

Steve’s training him nonstop. He's getting better, though, much better, as Peter has recently won his very first match against him. Without his webshooters, too.

“Hey, Peter,” Sam greeted, and Peter spun on his heels. “Tony’s going to start the movie in a bit.”

“I'll be down in a second,” he replied, and Sam gently shut the door.

Peter turned around and faced the bright blue wall before him. A large string of lights was strung with little clips. There was: a Polaroid of Gwen and Peter eating at the new ice cream place that opened just down the block, the photo from his science fair, a photo of his two parents, and various other family photos of him, Ben, and May.

Peter looked down at the photo in his hand. He clipped it, a rather large one, in the very center.

It was a big photo — it had to be to fit all of them. Peter was in the middle, holding up his diploma. Sam and Steve were both wrestling to ruffle Peter’s hair. Clint was leaning over to do bunny ears, but Natasha stepped on his foot and stopped him. Tony was posing, all seriously. Bruce was to the side, oblivious to the mess around him.

Peter hung up the photo on his wall.

“Peter! Hurry up!”

He smiled. “I'm coming!” He sprinted out of the room.

And, maybe it was just a photo. It didn't mean much, just a group of co-workers. That's what it technically is.

But not really. Because Peter and the Avengers all know what it really is: a family photo. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really didn't want to write this because I don't want it to end!!! (I also had to re-write this so many times, and I'm still not sure I like it. Might re-edit later) 
> 
> I had a fun time writing this. All of your comments mean so much to me, and I really appreciate them all! 
> 
> As for continuations, there will be some. Maybe not directly to this story, but there will be a lot of Peter & Avengers stuff.

**Author's Note:**

> holy moly this took 2000 years to write... i musta rewritten this like 90 times... ok maybe like 3 but thats a lot... exam week got my head like a bowl of spahjetti!!!
> 
> i saw guardians of the galaxy today n it was supah good, and it just makes me even more excited 4 homecoming
> 
> anywaysbye guys i hope u like it <3 Please leave a comment if you enjoyed/want more!
> 
> Thank you all so much!


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